THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Christmas  Days 


CHRISTMAS  DAYS 

By 
JUDD  MORTIMER  LEWIS 


NEW  YORK 

ROBERT  J.   SHORES 
PUBLISHER 


Copyright,  1917 
By  ROBERT  J.  SHORES 


PS 


To  the  Little  Mothers  of  the  World  this  book  of 
verse  is  dedicated.  For  them  no  bands  play  and 
no  banners  wave,  yet  the  battles  they  wage  for 
their  loved  ones,  call  for  more  fortitude,  more 
sacrifice,  more  suffering,  than  the  soldier  en 
dures  upon  the  field  of  battle.  God  be  with  the 
Mothers  of  the  world,  for  only  as  they  triumph 
can  the  world  grow  better. 

JUDD  MORTIMER  LEWIS. 


CONTENTS 

CHRISTMAS  DAYS    15 

TOO  SMALL  17 

JUST  BECAUSE  I'M  HAPPY 20 

POOR  SANTA  CLAUS   22 

BERNICE    26 

THOUGHT  OF  RESTING 29 

AT  THE  SINKING  OF  THE  SUN 32 

IN  THE  MORNING 35 

TENDER-SWEET   37 

HAS  ANYBODY  LOST  TWO  CATS? 39 

TRYING  TO  EXPRESS  IT 42 

NOOKIE  KNEW  44 

AN  INTERESTING  DIZEEZ  48 

AT  THE  FARM 51 

WHEN  BABY  HOLLERS  PEEK-A-BOO 54 

IN  THE  NIGHT  57 

BACK  TO  REALITIES   60 

BACK  AGAIN   FOR  ME   63 

CLIMBERS   66 

THE   HILLS    69 

THE  BABY  WHO  ROMPED  WITH  DAD 73 

A  SYMPHONY  IN  THE  MAKING  76 

A   SIGN    .  80 


CONTENTS— Continued 

LUCK,  THAT'S  ALL 83 

ALL  OF  THE  TIME  86 

GOOD  FOR  FARMERS   89 

HAPPY  HEART   92 

THOSE  OLD  DAYS  BENEATH  THE  BOUGH..    94 

ALL'S   WELL    98 

GOING   BACK    101 

MID-SUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM  104 

MIRACLES     107 

THE  COVERED  BRIDGE  110 

THE  OLD  DIRT  ROAD  113 

HOW  IT  HAPPENED  116 

RAIN-WET    120 

SUGAR  LUMPS  123 

JUST  GOING  TO  DAWDLE  ALONG  THE  WAY  126 

THE  LONG  SWEET-SMELLING  DAYS 129 

MACHINE  LIMITATIONS   131 

A  CASE  O'  CAN'T  HELP  IT 133 

IF  I  HAD  MY  WAY  135 

TOGETHER  138 

JUST  A  TOUCH  OF  LONGING 141 

RESTING  WITH  NOVEMBER  143 

THE  CHRISTMAS   SPIRIT   .  .  146 


Christmas  Days 


CHRISTMAS  DAYS 

HRISTMAS  days,  and  Christinas  ways 

And,  oh,  the  Christmas  weather! 
Little  boys  and  painted  toys 

And  wee  glad  girls  together; 
And  Santa  Claus  a-flinging  things, 

And  dancing  as  he  flings  'em; 
Mother  crooning  Christmas  songs 
And  laughing  as  she  sings  'em. 

Children's  days,  and  children's  ways, 

And  green  trees  decorated 
With  red  carts  and  tinsel  hearts, 

All  wants  anticipated! 
Never  one  wee  babe  forgot, 

And  never  one  that's  slighted! 
Ring-around-a-rosy-time, 

With  all  the  candles  lighted! 


15 


Little  girls  with  yellow  curls, 

And  manly  boys  to  love  'em! 
Mistletoe  hung  way  down  low, 

Just  bound  to  get  above  'em! 
Love  gifts  for  the  older  ones, 

And  green  and  scarlet  holly, 
Shrieks  of  glee  from  everywhere, 

In  a  whole  world  gone  jolly. 

Dinner  time,  and  tots  to  climb 

Up  into  chairs  beside  you, 
Goodies  sweet,  and  things  to  eat — 

Oh,  whatever  may  betide  you 
Christmas  with  the  little  folks, 

Filled  with  joy  that  bubbles, 
Is  worth  years  of  toil  and  moil 

And  worth  a  year  of  troubles. 

Christmas  nights  and  lowered  lights, 

And  tousleheads  all  sleeping, 
Everywhere  on  floor  and  chair 

Toys  in  careless  heaping; 
Dimpled  arms  all  holding  tight 

An  engine  or  a  dolly — 
Thank  God  for  the  Christmas-time, 

And  mistletoe  and  holly! 
16 


TOO  SMALL 

SOMETIMES    I    wish    the    Lord    had 
^       made  me  with  a  whole  lot  bigger 

heart; 
The  one  I've  got  gets  so  blamed  full  o'  joy 

sometimes  the  teardrops  start 
With  the  sweet  pain  it  throbs  full  of,  when 

it's  stretched  till  it's  'bout  to  break; 
A  sort  of  indescribable,  a  deep,  exquisite 

sort  of  ache! 
Like  if  another  drop  o'  joy  was  poured  into 

it,  it  would  bust 
And  fill  the  world  with  happiness;  I  sort  o' 

feel  sometimes  I  must 
Hop  up  onto  a  branch  and  sing,  or  simply 

choke  with  the  distress 
That  comes  o'  havin'  a  heart  made  too 

small  to  hold  its  happiness. 


17 


If  I  could  only  pour  it  out  like  a  wild  bird 

pours  out  its  song, 
It  wouldn't  be  so  bad;  I  could  go  a-singin' 

of  it  all  day  long; 
And  that  would  sort  o'  take  the  ache  out 

of  a  heart  that's  made  too  small; 
But,  shoo!   I  couldn't  keep  a  tune!   I  bed 

the  horse  down  in  his  stall, 
And  fill  his  manger  full  o'  feed,  and  sort  o' 

pat  him  on  the  flanks, 
And  that's  'bout  all  that  I  can  do.    I  ain't 

got  language  to  give  thanks; 
And  all  the  critters  on  the  place  know  me, 

and  f oiler  at  my  heels; 
But  when  a  feller's  heart's  too  small,  there 

ain't  no  tellin'  how  it  feels. 

But  I  talk  some;  and  that  is  more  than  what 

the  horse  can  do,  or  cow; 
If  I  was  shut  up  like  they  are  I  don't  know 

what  I'd  do,  or  how 
I'd  get  along;  I'd  have  to  quit  the  farm  and 

them  and  go  away; 
I'd  have  to  find  me  out  a  place  where  little 

children  never  play, 

18 


Where  breezes  never  come  at  all,  and  bring 

the  Southland's  sweet  perfume, 
Where  cows  don't  moo,  nor  horses  neigh, 

nor  dogs  don't  bark,  nor  roses  bloom, 
Nor  where  the  yellow  sun  don't  shine,  nor 

where  the  stars  don't  blink  of  nights, 
Nor  where,  when  darkness  wraps  the  earth, 

there  ain't  no  cottage  window  lights. 

An'  'cause  there  ain't  no  place  like  that  I'm 

mighty  glad  that  I  can  talk 
An'  tell  things  to  the  violets  that  bloom 

beside  the  garden  walk; 
An'  tell  things  to  the  cow  an'  horse,  an' 

play  with  children  in  the  sun, 
An'  lift  them  to  the  fence  to  jump  into  my 

arms,  when  work  is  done, 
An'  pick  the  reddest  roses  for  the  woman 

that  puts  up  with  me, 
Who,  when  I'm  glad,  seems  to  be  glad  as 

anyone  could  ever  be; 
An'  I  can  whistle  some,  an'  I  can  fling  back 

the  wildbird's  mornin'  call; 
But  when  a  feller's  glad  as  me  it  hurts  to 

have  a  heart  so  small. 
19 


JUST  BECAUSE  I'M  HAPPY 

IT   ain't   to  please  the  people   that  I 

*        hollerin'  hooray; 

It  ain't  to  wake  the  world  up  at  the  break 

of  the  day; 
It's  just  because  I'm  happy,  an'  I'm  feeli 

that-a-way 
That  I  holler  like  a  looney  in  the  mornii 

It  ain't  because  the  crops  are  in  an'  grow: 

in  the  rains; 
I  ain't  got  out  my  pencil  an'  a-figgerin'  r 

gains; 
It's  because  the  kids  are  happy  and  a 

weavin'  daisy  chains, 
That  I  holler  like  a  looney  in  the  morni 

I  holler  'cause  I'm  happy  with  the  thin 

of  every  day, 
I  holler  'cause  old  trouble  goes  around  t 

other  way; 

20 


It's  just  to  please  the  babies  romp  in'  happy 

at  their  play 
That  I  holler  like  a  looney  in  the  mornin'. 

That's  why  I  holler  mornin' s  when  I'm  out 

a-hoein'  corn, 
Till  my  voice  wakes  the  crossways  like  the 

tootin'  of  a  horn, 
To  set  the  echoes  chucklin'  just  as  soon  as 

they  are  born 
That  I  holler  like  a  looney  in  the  mornin'. 

To  set  the  echoes  rollin';  'tain't  to  please 

nobody  but 

A  little  bit  o'  mother  in  a  little  bit  o'  hut 
With  her  little  bits  o'  babies,  to  lighten  up 

the  rut, 
That  I  holler  like  a  looney  in  the  mornin'. 


21 


POOR  SANTA  GLAUS 

T    HAVE  always  had  a  notion  I  wished  I 

*•        was  Santa  Claus, 

I  have  always  had  a  notion  I  would  like 

to  be,  because 
It  would  be  such  fun  a-goin'  down  the 

chimneys  all  around, 
Tiptoein'  into  bedrooms,  stoppin'  at  each 

little  sound, 
With  my  ears  pricked  up  to  listen  for  the 

little  fellers'  tread, 
Peekin'  out  between  the  curtains,  peekin' 

into  each  wee  bed, 
Harkin'  to  the  talk  of  daytimes  of  each 

eager  little  tyke, 
An'  then,  Christmas,  fetchin  to  'em  all  the 

pretty  things  they  like. 


22 


I  have  always  had  a  notion  I  would  like  to 

get  his  mail, 
And  read  every  little  letter  till  the  stars  got 

dim  and  pale 
Every  morning.    I  imagine  he  gets  just  the 

quaintest  pile 
Of  wee  notes  that  it's  no  wonder  that  he 

always  wears  a  smile; 
But  I've  also  got  a  notion,  just  a  sort  of 

faint  surmise, 
I  can  see  a  little  sorrow  'way  back  in  his 

laughin'  eyes; 
An'  it's  that  there  look  of  sorrow  gets  me 

feelin'  glad  because 
I  am  only  me,  and  do  not  have  to  be  a 

Santa  Claus. 

I'm  a  fool!  For  when  the  presents  had  been 

scattered  everywhere, 
And  been  clasped  to  breasts  of  babies  with 

night's  tangles  in  their  hair, 
When  'twas  the  day  after  Christmas,  the 

morn  after  Christmas  morn, 
With  the  glad  girls  with  their  dollies,  with 

the  boys  each  with  a  horn, 
23 


With  the  sun  a-shinin'  brightly,  an*  with 

glorious  New  Year's  day 
Seemin'  to  wait  for  us  laughin'  only  just  a 

week  away, 
I   would  turn   from  it  a-sighin',   put  my 

empty  knapsack  by, 
An'  wish  I  could  take  my  smile  off  an'  go 

off  somewhere  an'  cry. 

Cry   for   letters   all   unanswered,   cry  for 

stockings  all  unfilled, 
For  child  voices  raised  in  hoping,  now  in 

disappointment  stilled, 
I  should  want  to  go  off  somewhere  by  my 

lonesome  just  to  grieve 
For   the   little  bits   o'   stockings  hanging 

empty  Christmas  Eve, 
That  would  hang  empty  and  cheerless  by 

the  cold  grate  in  the  morn 
When  with  joy  the  world  was  ringing  and 

the  Christmas  day  was  born; 
I  would  feel  bad  for  the  babies  with  their 

little  cheeks  tear-wet, 

Standin'  grievin'  Christmas  mornin',  think- 
in'  Santa  could  forget. 
24 


I  am  glad  that  I'm  not  Santa,  glad  that  I 

don't  have  to  be; 
There  won't  be  no  little  babies  Christmas 

morning  blamin'  me 
'Cause  their  little  baby  stockings  were  all 

empty  in  the  light 
Of  the  morning,  that  were  hung  up  filled 

with  hoping  over  night; 
I  can  feel  bad  and  be  grievin'  all  of  Christ 
mas  Day  because 
Of  the  disappointed  babies  without  being 

Santa  Claus; 
An'  if  I  was  him  I  reckon  I  could  never 

play  the  part, 
For  the  thought  of  them  I  couldn't  ever 

reach  would  break  my  heart. 


25 


BERENICE 

TVT  EW  roses,  red  roses;  so  graceful,  so  tall 
That  a  little  girl's  head  could  not  top 
them  at  all; 

So  red!  as  the  heart  of  all  color  has  sped 

To  love  them  and  hold  them  and  make 
them  so  red; 

So  fragrant,  the  fragrance  of  every  known 
bloom, 

The  soul  of  all  flowers  seems  in  their  per 
fume; 

Toned  down,  made  exquisite,  made  fitting 
for  you. 

And  so  they  come  to  you,  and  sparkling 
with  dew 

To  make  glad  your  day,  make  your  birth 
day  more  sweet, 

And  carpet  the  day  with  their  leaves  for 
your  feet. 


26 


What  would  the  world  be  with  no  red 

roses  tall, 
Nor  birds  in  the  trees  by  the  wayside,  to 

call 
"Good  morning,"  each  morning,  to  greet 

the  glad  sun, 
To  let  the  world  know  a  new  day  was 

begun; 

A  day  of  warm  sunshine,  as  yellow  as  gold; 
A  day  of  red  blossoms,  dew-laden,  to  hold; 
A  day  of  glad  brooks  that  go  laughing 

along; 
A  new  day,  a  glad  day,  a  day  brimmed 

with  song? 
What    would    the    world    be,    robbed    of 

blossoms  and  dew? 
And  what  would  life  be  in  a  world  robbed 

of  you? 

A  world  robbed  forever,  forever  of  you; 
The  smile  on  your  lips,  in  your  soul,  in  the 

blue 
Of   your   eyes.     There    are    times    when 

living's  a  task, 


27 


Vv  hen  we  drop  to  our  knees,  and  fear,  and 

we  ask 
or  rest,  only  rest!   Just  to  sleep,  and  for 

long! 
Eyes  shut  to  red  roses,  ears  closed  to  the 

song 
Of  birds  in  the  trees !   Then  your  laugh's  in 

the  hall; 
Your  laugh  at  the  weight  of  the  world;  and 

your  call. 
We  straighten  and  square  for  the  task 

that's  to  do; 
And  laugh.    But  our  laugh  is  the  courage 

of  you. 


28 


THOUGHT  OF  RESTING 

I    CAN  shut  my  eyes  and  hear  it,  hear  the 
*         river  calling,  calling; 

And  can  hear  the  rustling  rushes  in  the 

shallows  by  the  brink, 
And,  below,  I  hear  the  torrent  in  its  leaping 

and  its  falling, 
And,  above,  the  spreading  rapids  where 

the  cattle  come  to  drink; 
And  the  apple  trees  are  laden  with  their 

red,  red  globes  and  golden, 

And  I  see  the  fellows  playing  as  they 

used  to  play  with  me, 
And  the  amber  colored  sunshine,   as  in 

merry  days  and  olden, 
Comes  like  largess  flung  from  heaven 
through  the  branches  of  the  tree. 


29 


Comes  like  largess  flung  from  heaven,  and 

I  sigh  where  I  am  sitting 
With   the   autumn   all   about   me,    for 

there's  silver  on  my  hair, 
And  my  heart  calls  to  the  shadows  of  the 

old  days  round  me  flitting, 
And  my  ears  hark  for  a  hailing  that 

comes  not  from  anywhere; 
Oh,  heigh-oh,  I'm  old;  I'm  leaning  like  the 

trees  my  father,  felling 
In  the  forests  'way  off  yonder,  in  the 

sunny  lands  and  good, 
Brought  to  earth;  and  in  my  bosom  there's 

a  voice  insistent  telling 
I  am  marked  for  early  resting  like  the 
old  trees  in  the  wood. 

It  is  good,  the  thought  of  resting,  it  is  good, 

the  thought  of  going 
'Way  out  yonder  where  the  voices  of 

the  old  days  call  to  me; 
For  methinks  I'll  hear  the  laughter  of  the 

old  days,  and  the  blowing 
Of  old  springtime-laden  breezes  through 
the  blossom-laden  tree; 
30 


And  I'll  lay  by  as  a  garment  this  old  husk 

of  my  soul's  fretting, 
And  I'll  set  out  on  the  journey  with  a 

lilting  soul  and  free, 
And  they'll  run,  I  know,  to  meet  me  for 

their  souls  know  no  forgetting, 
And  we'll  laugh  and  talk  and  chatter 
like  the  boys  we  used  to  be. 


31 


AT  THE  SINKING  OF  THE  SUN 

A  RE  you  happy  with  the  happiness 
**     That  none  but  daddies  know? 
In  your  singing  repertoire 

Have  you  got  a  by-o-lo? 
Can  you  sit  still  in  the  evening 

And  hear  the  glad  pit-a-pat 
Of  the  bare  feet  of  a  baby 

Hunting  where  its  daddy's  at, 
Till  it  finds  you  sitting  lonely 

And  climbs  up  onto  your  knee 
In  its  nightie,  just  as  happy 

As  a  baby  ought  to  be? 
If  you  haven't  got  this  pleasure 

At  the  sinking  of  the  sun 
You  have  missed  a  lot  of  happiness, 

You're  out  a  lot  of  fun. 


32 


If  you  haven't  got  a  baby 

You  can  tousle  on  the  floor 
Till  its  mother  says:  "Be  careful/' 

And  the  baby  gasps  for  more, 
If  you  haven't  got  a  baby 

That  will  ride  a-pick-a-pack 
Hanging  to  your  ears  or  whiskers 

While  it  sits  astride  your  back, 
If  you  haven't  got  a  baby 

That  will  urge  you  up  the  stairs, 
That  will  fairly  shake  with  chuckles 

When  you  hurdle  over  chairs 
You  may  think  your  life  worth  living, 

But  you'll  know  before  its  done 
You've  been  running  on  a  side-track 

And  have  missed  a  pile  of  fun. 

It's  a  little  bit  of  baby 

At  the  end  of  every  day, 
It's  a  little  bit  of  baby 

With  its  little  baby  way 
Climbing  to  the  knees  of  daddy 

With  its  little  baby  charms, 
With  its  mouth  a-pout  for  kisses, 

With  its  dimpled,  necklaced  arms, 
33 


Makes  the  jolts  and  jars  of  living, 

All  the  worries  that  annoy; 
Just  the  way  that  leads  to  gladness, 

Just  the  way  that  leads  to  joy; 
And  you'll  bear  them  never  thinking 

Till  the  working  day  is  done, 
For  the  night-time  "Now-I-lay-me," 

And  the  scrambling  and  the  fun. 


34 


IN  THE  MORNING 

I  UST  a  happy,  childish  treble,  lifting, 
**        lilting  down  the  way; 
Just  a  burst  of  happy  laughter  where  the 

little  children  play; 
Just  a  squeal,  and  then  a  man's  voice,  in  a 

laughing:  "Upseday!" 
Just  some  little  babies  playing  in  the 
morning. 

\ 
Just  a  father  with  his  children  swinging  in 

an  old  rope  swing, 
Swinging  high  to  feel  the  pleasure  of  their 

little  hands  a-cling; 
How  their  voices  lilt  and  gurgle,  how  their 

happy  accents  ring; 
Just  some  little  babies  playing  in  the 
morning. 


35 


Just    an    earth-floored,    cozy    playground 

'neath  a  gnarly  liveoak  tree; 
Just  some  little  folks  pretending  they  have 

got  some  friends  to  tea; 
Just  some  brown-eyed,  blue-eyed  babies 

dignified  as  they  can  be; 
Just  some  little  babies  playing  in  the 
morning. 

Just  a  something  good  to  live  for;  just  a 

balm  for  every  smart, 
Just  wee  baby  hands,  all  dimpled,  shaping 

up  a  fellow's  heart; 
Just  a  dad  a-stoop  for  kisses  when  the  time 

had  come  to  part; 
Just    some    little    babies    playing    in    the 

morning. 

Just  one  more  strong  push  together,  one 

more  cry  of:  "Upseday!" 
Then  the  place  is  all  deserted  where  the 

little  children  play; 

They  are  at  the  gate  and  throwing  daddy- 
kisses  down  the  way; 
Just  some  little  babies  playing  in  the 
morning. 

36 


TENDER-SWEET 

I  F  you  use  a  little  lovin'  and  you  use  a 

*        little  song, 

You  will  find  your  world  is  never  gonna  go 

so  very  wrong; 
If  you  spread  a  little  kindness  on  the  other 

man's  distress, 
If  you  use  a  little  sweetness  and  a  little 

tenderness, 
If  you  stoop  some  times  to  sort  of  lift 

another  feller's  load, 
If  you  do  a  little  dance-step  as  you  go  alon^ 

the  road, 
You  will  find  that  all  of  these  things  you 

have  found  the  time  to  do 
In  some  happy  form  or  other  will   come 

laughin'  back  at  you. 


37 


That's  a  pretty  good  religion;   that's  the 

kind  the  Master  tried; 
He  just  chose  a  way  of  kindness  and  of 

sweetness,  and  He  died 
Hanging   on   the   rough   spikes,    piercing 

through  His  tender  hands  and  feet, 
And  through  all  that  He  had  suffered  still 

His  smile  was  tender-sweet; 
And  the  way  His  hurt  feet  walked  in  is  an 

open  way  to  you, 
But  no  spikes  await  you  in  it;  and  each 

tender  thing  you  do 
To  the  fellows  all  about  you  in  the  way  you 

go  along, 
Will  come  back  to  you  in  laughin'  and  in 

lovin'  and  in  song. 


38 


HAS  ANYBODY  LOST  TWO  CATS? 

If  AS  anybody  lost  two  cats?    Us  hopes 

*  *       nobody  ain't, 

Because  two  baby  cats  is  here;  and  they 

was  thest  as  faint 
As  they  could  be  when  they  first  came  to 

our  back  yard  that  day, 
And  so  us  feeded  them,  we  did,  and  they 

won't  go  away; 
But  mamma  says  that  they  ain't  not  our 

little  cats,  at  all; 
And  so  us  hides  them  in  the  shed  when 

peoples  comes  to  call, 
And  one  of  us  stays  there  with  them  so's 

they'll  be  sure  an'  stay, 
And  does  not  let  them  out  until  the  callers 

goes  away. 


39 


And  when  it's  me  I  hold  them  tight,  and 

peek  out  through  a  crack 
And  watch  them  till  they  go  away  and  hope 

they  won't  come  back; 
My  mamma  says   that  probably  nobody 

wants  them  much, 
She  says  there  is  so  many  cats  nobody  cares 

for  such; 

But  us  tells  her  us  cares  for  cats,  at  least 
ways  for  these  two, 
Us  don't  think  no  one  cares  for  cats  as 

much  as  usses  do; 
For  these  is  speshul  kinds  of  cats,  and  they 

can  almost  sing, 
And  they've  got  whiskers  and  a  tail  and 

legs,  and  ever' thing! 

Our  mamma  says  that  maybe  someone  had 

these  cats,  and  they 
Did  not  want  these  and  took  them  in  a  bag 

an'  come  away 
And  putted  them  in  our  yard;  and  my 

mamma  says  that  she 
Would  like  to  have  my  father  catch  them 

doin'  that,  they'd  see! 
40 


And  she  seems  kind  of  fussy,  but  the  cats 

don't  seem  to  mind, 
And  usses  thinks  whoever  left  them  here 

was  very  kind; 
And  the  cats  both  is  fat,  and  goes  with  us 

'most  everywhere, 
And  both  their  tails  sticks  right  straight  up 

from  them  into  the  air. 

I  wish  I  had  a  million  cats,  an'  sister  wishes, 

too; 
Us  has  had  these  cats  quite  a  while,  and 

they  are  good  as  new! 
And  fatter  than  when  they  first  come;  if 

we'd  a  million  we 
Would  give  them  milkman's  milk  till  they 

were  fat  as  they  could  be, 
And  we  would  train  them  till  they  would 

go  with  us  everywhere — 
A  million — with  a  million  tails  stuck  right 

up  in  the  air. 
These  is  our  cats!    Now,  ain't  they  fat? 

An'  ain't  they  long  an'  wide! 
But    'scuse    us    someone's  comin',  an'  us 

gotta  go  an'  hide. 
41 


TRYING  TO  EXPRESS  IT 

I  COULD  hop  up  on  a  twig 

•*•  If  I  wasn't  so  dern  big, 

An'  I  wasn't  so  dern  stout, 

An*  as  homely  as  git-out, 

An*  just  sing  an'  sing  an'  sing, 

Sing  out  glad  as  everything; 

Sometimes  my  soul  seems  to  buzz 

Like  an  auto's  gizzard  does, 

Just  for  gladness!   Swear  I  could! 

Ain't  the  old  world  glad  and  good? 

Ain't  the  old  world  glad  and  good, 
Once  you  get  it  understood? 
I  ketch  myself  wishin'  that 
I  could  purr  just  like  a  cat; 
I'm  so  glad  sometimes  I  feel 
Like  a  pig  does;  I  could  squeal, 


42 


I'm  so  glad!  Skies  are  so  blue, 
Winds  so  sweet  an*  hearts  so  true, 
That,  I  say — 'f  I  wa'n't  so  big 
I'd  just  hop  up  on  a  twig! 

Sometimes,  when  things  starts  to  rip 
I  just  pinch  my  lower  lip 
'Twixt  my  fingers,  this-away, 
An'  don't  have  a  word  to  say; 
Never  open  up  my  face; 
Then,  somewheres  about  the  place 
An  old  mocker  lilts  a  tune 
Sweeter  than  the  soul  of  June. 
And  a  fleck  o'  sunshine  falls 
On  my  patched  old  overalls. 

Then  the  wind  stirs  in  the  trees; 
And  the  hum  o'  honeybees 
Comes  to  me;  an'  far  away 
Comes  the  smell  of  new-mown  hay; 
And  the  skys  keeps  gittin'  blue 
And  someone  yells:    "Peek-a-boo!" 
Or  a  baby,  hid  somewhere 
Laughs,  an'  there  ain't  no  more  care; 
And  my  glad  soul  starts  to  buzz 
Like  an  auto's  innards  does. 
43 


'NOOKIE  KNEW 

I    WENT  to  ride  with  "  'Nookie,"  just  the 

*•         other  night,  and  she 

Was  about  as  wriggle-twisty  as  a  little  girl 

could  be; 
For  one  moment   she'd  be  sitting  right 

beside  me  on  the  seat, 
And  next  moment  she'd  be  up  and  dancing 

gaily  on  her  feet; 
And,  it  seemed  to  me,  just  trying  to  spill 

out  into  the  road, 
And  I'd  grab  her  and  I'd  tell  her:    "Sit 

down  there,  you  little  toad!" 
But  she'd  hop  up  in  a  moment  with  a  gur 
gle-goo  of  glee, 
And  the  mischief  in  her  blue  eyes  would  be 

peeping  out  at  me. 


44 


Then  I  tried  to  interest  her,  and  asked,  as 

we  went  along, 
If  she  was  the  little  girl  that  I  had  heard 

could  sing  a  song; 
And  she  tuned  up  in  a  moment,  her  song 

was  of  "little  feet," 
And  she  cautioned  them  "be  tareful"  and 

her  voice  was  mighty  sweet; 
And  it  rippled  and  it  whispered,  like  the 

night  wind  in  the  trees, 
And  was  sweeter  than  the  buzzing  of  the 

laden  honey-bees; 
It  flowed  sweeter  than  the  streamlet  o'er  its 

sunlit  pebbles  flows; 
But  her  feet  were  not  too  careful,  for  one 

hit  me  on  the  nose! 

Then  I  asked  her  when  she'd  finished,  and 

we'd  had  enough  of  that, 
(Of  the  kicking,  not  the  singing)  Tell  me: 

"Have  you  got  a  cat?" 
Don't  tell  me  I'm  not  a  wizard  picking  out 

a  subject!    She 
Turned  the  glory  and  the  gladness  of  her 

blue  eyes  onto  me, 
45 


And  she  snuggled  up  and  told  me  of  a 

mother-cat  she  had, 
And  the  very  talking  of  it  seemed  to  make 

her  more  than  glad; 
And  she  told  me  what  she  called  her,  and 

she  told  me  she  was  sweet, 
And  she  said  that  when  she  teased  her  she 

had  stickers  on  her  feet. 

And  then  she  spoke  of  the  kittens,  there 

were  four  of  them  in  all, 
And  they'd  chase  her  through  the  parlor, 

and  romp  with  her  in  the  hall; 
And  one  of  them  was  named  "Stinny," 

and  one  "Fatty,"  and  one  "Pig," 
And  the  other,  little  bit  of  kitten  that  was 

not  so  big, 
Was  named   "Pussy-Foot,"   and  always, 

she  said  with  her  voice  of  song, 
Or  most  always,  when  she  went  out  all  her 

cats  would  go  along; 
And  she'd  hug  them  up  tight  to  her,  and 

they'd  sing — she  meant  they'd  purr — 
And  what  wouldn't  sing  I  wonder  snug 
gled  in  the  arms  of  her! 
46 


Then  I  told  her  she  was  charming  and  I 

whispered  to  her  that 
I  was  glad  she  had  the  kittens,  glad  she 

had  the  mother-cat; 
Then  I  asked  her  what  the  kittens  had  on 

them;  I  questioned  her 
Wondering  if  she'd  say  hair,  or,   if  she 

knew  and  would  say,  "fur," 
And  she  clapped  her  hands,  and  gladness 

shone  out  of  her  eyes  of  blue, 
And  I  knew  in  that  one  moment,  as  she 

looked  up,  that  she  knew! 
And  she  caught  me  by  the  ears  and  stood 

right  up  there  on  my  knees. 
And  she  rubbed  her  nose  on  my  nose  and 

she  told  me  they  had  "Fleas!" 


47 


I T  ain't  no  fun  this  bein'  sick  and  lyin' 

*        here  like  this; 

My  mother  says  that  I  ain't  got  'fantile 

paralysis, 
'Cause  I  can  move  my  toes,  and  move  my 

fingers,  this-a-way; 
If  I  had  it  I'd  lay  right  still  in  bed  day 

after  day 
An'  couldn't  even  turn  at  all,  and  couldn't 

move  my  toes, 
And  couldn't  hold  my  handkerchief  to  help 

me  blow  my  nose; 
It  must  be  funny  for  a  kid  to  be  laid  out 

that  flat; 
I  wonder  why  God  goes  and  makes  diseeziz 

such  as  that? 

My  father,  which  is  very  smart,  and  reads 
'most  every  night 
48 


Books  with  the  longest  words  in  them, 
which  he  pernounces  right, 

Says  folks  are  made  like  telephones,  and 
central  is  your  head, 

And  everywhere  through  all  of  you  the 
nerves  like  wires  is  spread; 

And  this  'fantile  paralysis  which  some 
times  comes  to  town 

Is  like  a  storm  which  breaks  the  wires,  and 
mebby  throws  them  down 

So  central  can't  communicate  with  fingers 
or  with  toes, 

Or  legs  or  arms  or  anything,  to  tell  them 
how  they  goes. 

My  father  he  is  very  smart,  and  things  is 

like  he  said; 
And  my  brain's  like  a  little  man  a-settin' 

in  my  head, 
A-phonin'  me  the  way  to  go,  and  to  turn 

out  for  chairs, 
And  phonin'  my  feet  how  to  go  when  I 

start  for  upstairs; 
And   this   'fantile   paralysis   is   when   the 

wires  is  down, 

49 


Like  that  there  last  big  storm  we  had 
smashed  them  all  over  town 

And  made  the  phones  go  dead;  I'm  glad 
that  I  have  not  got  that! 

It's  tough  enough  to  be  plain  sick  and 
lyin'  where  I'm  at. 

Since  God  has  made  us  that-a-way  he  otto 

made  some  men, 
Some  teentsy  men  with  climbers  on,  to 

make  us  well  again; 
They  could  come  climbin'  up  our  legs,  and 

climb  in  through  our  ears, 
And  fix  our  wires  so  we  would  not  have 

that  dizeez  for  years; 
And  when  they  got  us  fixed  one  could  call 

from  our  little  toe, 
To  Central  'way  up  in  our  head,  and  say, 

"Hello!  Hello! 
Ring  your  bell,  Central,  till  I  see  if  this 

here  kid's  all  right" — 
But  I  ain't  got  it;  what  I  got's  from  green 

plums  et  last  night. 


50 


AT  THE  FARM 

1i>|  Y  grandpa,  he  ain't  got  much  hair  ex 
cept  just  by  his  ears, 
And  he  has  lived  in  this  here  world  for 

years  and  years  and  years; 
And  he  leans  on  the  fence  and  smiles  when 

he  looks  down  at  me, 
He  says  I'm  such  a  little  girl  as  gran'ma 

used  to  be; 
But  it  don't  seem  like  grandmas  could  have 

been  just  little  girls; 
My  grandma's  face  is  wrinkled  and  she's 

got  the  whitest  curls 
I  ever  saw,  but  he  showed  me  a  picture 

of  her,  and 
She  was  a  little  girl  and  had  a  gold  ring  on 

her  hand. 

51 


The  picture  is  on  glass,  and  it's  in  a  gold 

velvet  frame, 
And  grandpa  said  it  was — I  guess  I  can  not 

say  the  name, 
But   it   was   an   old-fashioned   kind   they 

made  when  he  was  small; 
But  I  would  not  be  proud  of  it  if  I  had  it 

at  all. 
I've  got  a  better  picture  of  myself,  as  big 

as  me! 
With  yellow  curls  and  with  blue  eyes,  and 

pretty  like  I  be; 
I'm  glad  that  grandma  is  growed  up,  and 

grandpa  growed  up,  too, 
I  could  not  love  them  quite  so  much  if 

they  was  both  so  new. 

Folks  get  more  kind  as  they  get  old;  my 

grandpa  is  so  kind 
That  chickens,  colts  and  calves  and  pigs 

all  lag  along  behind 
When  he  walks  out  around  the  place;  and 

on  one  warm  day  he 
Was  feelin*  sleepy  so  he  sat  down  by  an 

ellum  tree 

52 


And  went  to  sleep;  he  says  he  just  stopped 

for  a  little  nap, 
And  Molly's  colt  loved  him  so  much  it  laid 

down  in  his  lap! 
And  when  he  woke  and  hollered  the  colt 

stepped  on  him,  and  he 
Had  to  send  for  a  doctor  and  he  had  an 

awful  knee. 

But  he's  all  right  again,  and  laughs,  and 

says  he'll  have  some  chap 
Kodak  him  sometime  with  a  horse  a-settin' 

on  his  lap; 
A.nd  then  he  lifts  me  up  and  we  go  where 

red  clover  grows 
And  bees  are  buzzin',  and  the  smell's  on 

every  breeze  that  blows; 
And  when  he  finds  a  great  thick  patch  of 

it  he  puts  me  down, 
And  says  he  don't  know  what  he'll  do  when 

I  go  back  to  town; 
But  I  tell  him  not  to  feel  bad,  that  when 

I  am  away 
I'll  write  him  notes  with  kisses  in  and  send 

them  every  day. 
53 


WHEN  BABE  HOLLERS 
PEEK-A-BOO 

117HEN  babe  hollers  peek-a-boo,  then 
*  *    her   mother's   hiding,   too,   and  her 

grandma's  peekin'  through 
Fingers  interlaced; 

And  her  grandpa  ducks  his  head  under 
neath  the  tablespread,  and  her  happy 
dad  has  fled — 
Fled,  in  headlong  haste, 
For  a  nook  just  anywhere,  underneath  the 
parlor    stair,  or  beneath  a  near-by 
chair, 

Any  kind  of  nook, 

So  it's  not  so  far  away  as  to  keep  him  from 
the  play,  and  each  one  is  hoping  they 
Will  get  the  first  look. 


54 


For   when   baby  walks   around,   tippytoe 
without  a  sound,  till  some  hiding  one 
when  found, 
Loudly  hollers:   "Boo!" 
Then  there's  doings  at  our  shack  when  the 
baby   scuttles   back,   and   your   ear 
drums  would  'most  crack 
With  the  loud  halloo; 
And  she's  caught  and  roundly  kissed,  dim 
pled  chin  and  creasy  wrist,  rounded 
cheek  and  chubby  fist, 
Kissed  and  kissed  again; 
Everybody  takes  their  toll,  grandpa  ducks 
his  shining  poll,  grandma  whispers: 
"Bless  her  soul!" 
And  she's  happy  then. 

Of  a  sudden,  though  her:   "Boo!"  sends 
them  swiftly  scuttling  to  some  place 
where  they  can  peek  through, 
Watching  every  turn 
Of  the  baby  as  she  seeks,  as  she  tippytoes 
and    peeks,    starry     eyes    and    rosy 
cheeks; 

He  would  need  be  stern 
55 


Who  could  sit  unmoved  through  all,  hide 
and  seek,  and  find  and  call,  who  her 
happy  childish  thrall 
Could  not,  would  not  feel; 
When  a  human  gets  too  old,  too  self -cen 
tered  or  too  cold,  to  a  babe's  form 
long  to  hold, 
Or  enjoy  its  squeal, 

Then  it's  time  for  him  to  hie  out,  far  out, 
beneath  the  sky,  where  white  clouds 
and  wild  birds  fly, 
Knowing  woe  nor  ruth, 
And  lie  close  to  nature's  breast,  just  to 
feel  her  moods,  and  rest  by  the  sum 
mer  winds  caressed 
And  renew  his  youth; 
Get  afar  from  gold  and  bonds,  out  among 
the  swaying  fronds  of  cool  ferns  by 
shady  ponds, 
Till  he  feels  a  tug 

Of  old  nature  at  his  heart,  causing  it  to 
bound  and  start,  causing  it  to  long 
and  smart, 
For  a  babe  to  hug. 

56 


IN  THE  NIGHT 

A     MOCKING  BIRD  waked  me  up  last 
**     night; 
He  was  perchin'  out  where  the  moon  was 

bright. 

An'  I  think  a  mockin'  bird  must  have  sung 
That  kind  of  a  song  when  the  world  was 

young, 
An'  the  trees  was  young,  and  the  hills,  an* 

streams, 
An*  love  was  young  with  its  laughs  an* 

dreams; 

He  waked  me  up  with  the  overflow 
From  his  joyous  heart;  an'  I  didn't  know 
What  it  was  that  roused  me,  at  first,  an*  I 
Tried  to  settle  back  with  a  drowsy  sigh. 

But  would  he  let  me?    No  sir!  his  call 
Came  through  the  window,   and  hit   the 
wall, 

57 


Went  through  the  door,  and  went  down 

the  stair, 

An*  into  all  of  the  corners,  where 
No  music  ever  had  been  before; 
Then  he  sung  louder,  an'  sung  some  move; 
An'  I  waked  up,  an'  I  thought,  "Gee  whiz! 
He's  a  stemwinder,  that  feller  is!" 
An*  I  left  the  bed,  an'  pulled  a  chair 
Before  the  winder,  an'  sot  me  there. 

I  sot  right  there  for  the  better  part 
Of  the  night,  whilst  he  spilled  out  his  heart; 
The  world  was  asleep;  all  the  winders  dark, 
An'  there  wasn't  no  one  but  me  to  hark; 
An'  the  poplars  stuck  up  ag'in'  the  sky, 
An'  the  moon  was  big  as  a  homemade  pie, 
An*  I  was  a-hearin*  a  concert  worth — 
Why,  there  ain't  no  tellin'!    No  one  on 

earth, 

Not  Tetrazzini,  could  sing  like  that; 
So  I  drinked  it  in,  and  sat  and  sat. 

An'  there  was  a  song  of  the  long  ago, 
An'  a  little  boy  with  a  stonebruised  toe, 
An'  a  river-road,  an'  a  windin'  stream, 

58 


An*  a  covered  bridge,  an*  a  boyish  dream, 
An*  a  wispy  girl  with  blue  eyes  ashine, 
An*  two  names  were  carved  on  a  tall  old 

pine; 

An*  there  was  glee,  an*  a  world  o'  hope, 
Then  a  wee  grave  on  a  sun-warmed  slope, 
An'  then  an  ache,  an'  a  broken  heart, 
An'  a  pain  so  keen  that  tears  would  start. 

Then  in  the  tune  I  heard  him  sing, 
The  world  and  life  seemed  a  little  thing; 
I  seemed  so  little  I  swept  along 
Up,  up,  up,  up,  on  a  gust  of  song; 
The  world  grew  little,  an'  off  as  far — 
Far  as  the  littlest,  tiniest  star; 
Life's  sorrows  dwindled  an*  faded,  too, 
Heaven  was  near  an'  the  skies  was  blue; — 
The  song  died  down  to  a  little  cheep, 
An'  mornin'  found  me  right  there,  asleep. 


59 


BACK  TO  REALITIES 

\JLT  HEN   the  new  moon  is  round,   an* 

gold  as  a  new  pat  o'  butter; 
An'  candlebugs  are  doin'  stunts,  and  black 

bats  flitter-flutter 
Into  the  porch  an'  out  again,  an'  there's  a 

far  off  mooin' 
Of  cattle  in  the  medder-lot,  then  there  ain't 

nothin*  doin' 
If  you  are  settin'  all  alone,  but  jest  to  go 

a-dreamin' 
Of  walks  jest  wide  enough  for  two,  an* 

silver  ripples  gleamin' 
As  they  come  rushin'  to  the  shore  v/ith 

the  night  breezes  after, 
Like  happy  kids  would,  an'  bust  there  with 

little  lilts  o'  laughter. 

There's  nothin'  doin'  then,  but  jest  to  sort 
o'  set  an'  listen 
60 


Back  in  the  shadders  where  the  big  moon- 
flowers  nod  an7  glisten; 
An*  pretty  soon,  away  far-off,  you'll  hear 

glad  hoof  beats  drumming 
An*   by  the   feelin'   in  your  heart  you'll 

know  the  dreams  are  comin'; 
An'  you  will  go  to  meet  'em,  an'  come  with 

them  through  the  flowing 
Clear  waters  at  the  ford,  an'  go  wherever 

they  are  going — 
You  would  not  let  the  dreams  go  past  an' 

go  their  ways  without  you — 
An'  first  you  know,  the  shapes  o'  dreams 

are  dancin'  all  about  you. 

One  is  the  boy  you  chummed  with  when 

life's  paths  were  all  before  you; 
Jest    harum-scarum   boyish   chums,    with 

blue  skies  archin'  o'er  you; 
An'  you  loved  one  another,  too,  but  he 

stopped  way  back  yonder, 
An'  in  amongst  your  dreams  you  sit  with 

a  hurt  heart,  and  ponder 
The  question  you  oft  ask  yourself,  you  with 

the  years  grown  mellow, 
61 


If  he,  beyond  the  farthest  star,  is  still  the 

little  fellow 
You  used  to  know  an7  love,  or  if  he's  still 

been  growin',  growin', 
So  that  your  wrinkles  an'  gray  hair  won't 

put  you  past  his  knowin'. 

An'  then  a  laugh  within  the  house,  a  glee 
ful  pitter-patter, 
An'  rushin'  little  white-robed  forms  send 

all  your  dreams  a-scatter! 
An'  babies  romp  onto  your  knees,  to  say 

their,  "Now  I  lay  me," 
An*  all  the  thin  dream  shapes  are  gone; 

and  fades  out  laughin'  Jamie, 
The  comrade  of  your  boyish  pranks,  an' 

you  are  left  a-holdin' 
A  bunch  o'  babies  that  care  not  for  fumin' 

or  for  scoldin'; 
Because  they  know  it's  all  a  joke.    Dreams 

of  old  days  are  pleasin', 
But  laughin',  lovin'  babies  are  far  better 

worth  one's  squeezin'. 


62 


BACK  AGAIN  FOR  ME 

I  THINK  I'd  best  pack  up  my  duds  and 

*•        tell  the  town  good-by, 

And  leave  the  pall  of  smoke  behind;  and, 
out  beneath  the  sky, 

Go  off  along  the  country  road,  the  wind 
ing  road  I  know, 

I  came  along  so  bravely  just  a  little  year 
ago; 

Go  back  to  the  broad  meadow,  to  the  call 
ing  of  the  stream, 

The  little  room  beneath  the  eaves  in  which 
I  used  to  dream, 

The  birdsong  of  a  morning,  and  the  sweet 
scent  of  the  pine, 

And  all  the  joys  that  wait  out  there  for  me 
to  call  them  mine. 


63 


The  smoke's  so  dark  above  me  that  I  can 

not  see  the  stars; 
I  want  to  see  the  cattle  stand  a-callin'  at 

the  bars; 
I  want  to  wake  at  morning  with  the  old 

familiar  sounds, 

And  not  the  slammin',  ban  gin'  as  the  milk 
man  makes  his  rounds; 
I  want  the  smell  of  clover  makin'  all  the 

noonday  sweet; 
I  am  weary,  weary,  weary  of  the  clinging 

asphalt  street, 
And  I  will  be  more  happy  than  I  was  a 

year  ago 
If  I  can  walk  at  starlight  with  a  maid  I 

used  to  know. 

The  city  girls  are  different,  they  are  thin 
and  ground  by  toil; 

They  are  weary  every  evening  of  the  day 
long  stress  and  moil; 

Their  poor  cheeks  are  so  hollow,  and  their 
eyes  such  somber  wells — 

Oh,  I'm  bound  to  leave  the  city,  and  its 
reeking  shops  and  hells! 
64 


And  I'm  goin'  to  the  country  where  the 

fields  are  wide  and  green, 
And  no  smoke-clouds  hide  the  heavens, 

and  the  winds  are  cool  and  clean, 
And  the  girls  are  plump  and  happy,  with 

their  hair  in  ribbon-bows, 
And  they  dimple  into  laughter,  and  their 

cheeks  are  like  the  rose. 

I  have  had  my  year-long  lesson,  and  it's 

back  again  for  me! 
To    the    gladness  of  the  hill-tops,  to  the 

spring  beneath  the  tree; 
To  the  high  blue  sky  at  noontime;  and  at 

night  the  blinking  stars, 
And   the   cattle  standing  calling,   in   the 

evenin'  by  the  bars; 
I've  had  my  fill  of  the  city,  and  I  want  the 

clover-bloom, 
And  the  winding  country  highway,  and  the 

honeybee's  ba-zoom; 
I  will  trade  the  mighty  city,  with  its  shops 

and  streets  aglow, 
For  the  glinting  eyes  and  laughter  of  a 

country  girl  I  know. 
65 


CLIMBERS 

HP  HE  road  gits  ruther  warmish  an'  it's 
*        climbin'  all  the  time; 
But  we  ought  to  be  a-thankin*  God  we've 

got  the  strength  to  climb; 
When  there's  boulders  in  the  pathway  that 

we  have  to  work  around, 
When  we've  passed  a  bit  o'  goin'  that  we 

feared  would  get  us  downed, 
When  the  slippin'  an'  the  slidin'  of  the 

slopes  are  passed  and  by, 
We  should  sing  a  song  o'  gladness  that  we 

had  the  heart  to  try; 
'Course  the  road  was  steep  and  warmish, 

an'  we  had  to  climb  an'  crawl, 
But  the  road  goes  always  upward  that  leads 

anywhere  at  all. 


66 


Course  the  grime  an'  sweat  of  climbin'  an* 

the  weariness  was  great; 
Course  we  sometimes  felt  the  longin'  to 

set  in  the  shade  an'  wait 
Till  the  gentle  evenin*  breezes  brought  a 

coolness  to  our  cheek; 
But  if  we're  amongst  the  winners,  we  kept 

pluggin'  at  the  peak 
Till  it  kept  a-growin'  nearer,  an',  almost 

before  we  knew, 
We  was   reachin'   for  .the  blossoms   that 

stood  out  ag'in  the  blue, 
We  was  settin'   in     the  shadow  listenin' 

to  the  gentle  croon 
Of  the  wild  birds,  an'  a-breathin'  in  the 

sweet  perfume  o'  June. 

If  you're  on  the  road  a-climbin',  or  have 

reached  the  very  top — 
But  you  haven't — thank  the  Maker  there 

ain't  any  place  to  stop; 
If  you  lived    through  all  the  ages  there 

would  still  be  heights  to  climb; 
There  would  be  a  little  something  that 

you  could  do  all  the  time; 
67 


There  would  be  a  weaker  brother  who  must 

tote  a  bigger  load; 
There  might  be  a  weaker  sister  who  was 

laggin'  in  the  road; 
It  might  be  just  a  wee  baby  separated  from 

its  dad, 

Waitin'  for  your  arms  to  squeeze  it,  an' 
your  kiss  to  make  it  glad. 

So,  however  dust  is  blowing  so,  however 

steep  the  ways, 
Though  the  road  gits  ruther  warmish  in  the 

peltin'  of  the  rays, 
If  you  keep  head  up,  eyes  forward,  to  the 

line  ag'in  the  skies 
You  will  find  the  perspiration  will  not  run 

into  your  eyes; 
If  you  slow  up  to  be  helpin'  someone  else 

to  make  the  climb, 
You  won't  notice  the  road's  roughness  nor 

its  danger,  half  the  time; 
And  the  joy  of  every  boulder  you  climb 

over,  by  and  by 
Will  keep  you  a-thankin'  Heaven  that  you 

had  the  strength  to  try. 

68 


THE  HILLS 

HP  HERE'S  nothing  so  good  as  the  hill- 
*•       tops  that  rise 
Till  they're  covered  with  snow  and  tints  of 

the  skies 
Lie  on  'em;  there's  nothin'  so  good  as  they 

are! 
I  look  o'er  the  miles  to  the  hills  where  they 

are, 

Like  sentinels  standin'  ag'in'  the  blue  skies, 
And  hot  tears  of  longin'  well  into  my  eyes. 
The  hills!  oh,  the  hills,  with  their  summits 

of  snow! 
Their  scars  and  their  chasms  I  never  may 

know; 
And  God's  in  the  mountains!  His  voice  is 

the  tone 
Of  torrents  down  tearing  by  shoulder  and 

stone. 


69 


The  hills !  Oh,  the  hills !  The  snow-capped 

hills  for  mine! 
The  bare  rocky  peaks  far  above  the  last 

pine! 
The  white  virgin  snow  where  no  man  ever 

trod! 

The  peaks  and  the  silences  vibrant  of  God! 
Above  all  the  toil  and  the  stress  and  the 

strife, 
The  petty  small  threads  that  are  woven  in 

life, 
The  sorrow  and  heartache,  the  stress  and 

the  care, 

The  ages-old  woman  with  grey  in  her  hair 
Who  begs  on  the  corner,  the  bandit  who 

lurks 
To  spoil  of  his  earnings  his  fellow  who 

works. 

The  hills!    Oh,  the  hills,  with  their  mantles 
of  snow! 

Their  heaven-born  winds   and  their  tor 
rents  that  flow 

And  call  through  the  silence  uproarious 
and  far, 

70 


And  fling  around  boulder  and  barrier  and 

bar, 
Until  they  go  laughing  and  careless  and 

free 
Down  smooth  level  highways  that  lead  to 

the  sea; 
The  hills  are  all  white  and  the  hills  are 

all  clean, 
And  only  the  valleys  and  lowlands  are 

mean; 
The  hills  are  God's  highways;  man  walks 

on  the  plain, 
An  atom,  soul-shackled,  bowed  down  in 

his  chain. 

And  yet,  if  I  could  would  I  leave  it  and  go, 
Climb  up  to  the  hills  from  the  valleys  be 
low, 

Climb  up  to  the  silences,  icy  and  vast, 
Leave  men  I  have  fought  with,  the  men  I 

have  passed 
With  laughter  and  hail  as  we  journeyed 

along, 
The  beggar  I  helped  with  a  lilt  and  a  song, 


71 


The  beggar  below  on  the  corner,  whose 

eyes 
Unseeing,   seem   always   to   gaze   on   the 

skies? 
Leave  the  toil  and  the  strife,  the  resting 

and  glee? 
No!  the  hills  are  for  God;  the  valleys  for 

me! 


72 


OH,  little  girl,  with  the  braids  grown 
long, 

And  the  laughing  lips  and  heart  of  song, 
And  the  slim  cool  hands,  each  night  you 

wait 

As  you  once  did  by  the  arbored  gate, 
But  when  your  daddy  turns  in  the  street 
No  more  you  scamper  on  dancing  feet, 
With  wind-blown  curls,   and  your  arms 

out,  so. 
As  you  did  ever  so  long  ago. 

Now    you    stand   waiting   him,    tall    and 

and  straight 
And   self-possessed;    and   you  swing   the 

gate 

To  let  him  through,  and  you  tippytoe 
For  his  kiss,  and  arm  in  arm  you  go 
73 


Up  the  long  walk  where  the  red  rose  bends, 
Each  rose  on  its  stalk  and  you  are  friends, 
You  smile  at  the  world,  and  it  looks  glad; 
But  where  is  the  baby  who  romped  with 
dad? 

Where  is  the  babe  with  her  rush  and  shout, 
Her  hair  blown  wild,  and  her  arms  held 

out; 
With  the  wee  hurt  where  she  slipped  and 

fell 

Which  but  the  kiss  of  her  dad  made  well? 
She  stands  wide-eyed  with  her  lips  apart, 
Her  hands  clasped  over  her  fluttered  heart; 
With  fluffy  curls  in  a  shining  strand, 
And  gazes  into  the  grown-up  land. 

And  just  last  evening  a  tall  youth  stood 
By  the  gate  with  her;  the  distant  wood 
Shone  green  and  gold  in  the  setting  sun; 
A  bird  in  its  shady  depths,  just  one, 
Trilled  a  low  note  to  departing  day; 
She  stood  and  watched  when  he  turned 
away; 


74 


Then  ran,   arms  wide,   where  her  father 

smiled, 
And  clung  to  him  like  a  little  child. 

He  knew;   and,  knowing,  his  eyes  grew 

dim, 

How  much  that  loving  was  meant  for  him; 
That  night  he  stood  by  her  snowy  bed 
As  she  slept,  one  arm  'neath  her  little  head, 
And  thought  long  thoughts,  and  his  heart 

was  sad 

For  the  wee  girl  who  had  run  to  dad 
With  a  glad  shout  on  those  far  off  nights, 
For  kiss-healed  bruises  and  pillow-fights. 


75 


A   SYMPHONY   IN   THE   MAKING 

OD  is  planning  greater  wonders,  as  a 

player  o'er  the  keys, 
Going  thoughtfully  and  slowly  brings  the 

world  new  melodies, 
As  a  dreamer,  eyes  before  him,  through 

starvation,  hurt,  and  ruth, 
Brings  his  dream  where  men  may  grasp  it, 

hold  it,  know  it  for  the  truth, 
God  is  picking  through  the  ages  from  the 

hearts  of  vibrant  strings 
Things  but  yesterday  unthought  of,  what 

to-day  are  undreamed  things; 
And  the  world  grows  ever  better,   cries 

grow  fainter,  die  away, 
As  the  eyes  of  stumbling  mortals  catch 

the  dawning  of  the  day. 


76 


As  musicians  build  their  music,   toning, 

cutting  out  discord, 

So  the  work  goes  on  forever  in  the  work 
shop  of  the  Lord; 
The  whole  universe  His  keyboard,  planets 

far  beyond  our  ken 
And  beyond  them  other  planets,  and  then 

more  as  far  again, 
And,  twice  farther,  other  planets;  each  has 

some  place  in  the  score; 
Though  the  throbbing  comes  but  faintly,  if 

we  listen  more  and  more, 
If  we  tune  our  ears  to  catch  it,  it  shall  come 

near  and  more  near: 
If  our  hearts  are  kept  unsullied  and  we 

hearken  we  shall  hear. 

Till  in  time  all  men  shall  hear  it  come  tri 
umphant  to  their  ears, 

Through  the  interstellar  spaces  catch  the 
music  of  the  spheres; 

And  the  weeping  of  the  children,  and  the 
grieving  of  the  sad, 

And  the  moan  of  those  who  hunger,  and 
the  growl  of  men  made  mad 
77 


By  the  grinding  and  the  squeezing  of  the 

cruel  hands  of  greed 
Shall  be  hushed  to  catch  the  music;  and 

whatever  god  or  creed 
Men  may  have,  if  they  but  labor  with  their 

eyes  turned  to  the  dawn 
They  shall  step  forth  into  glory  when  the 

darker  days  are  gone. 

Those  who  trample  on  their  passions,  turn 

their  backs  on  lust  and  greed; 
Men  who  turn  to  help  a  brother  who  is 

crying  in  his  need; 
Men  who  help  to  take  the  babies  from  the 

spindle  and  the  loom 
To  wide  fields  where  summer  breezes  stir 

the  blossoms  to  perfume; 
Men  who  govern  them  with  loving,  who 

protect  the  baby  limbs 
From   the   thoughtless  blow   are  helping 

shape  the  gladdest  of  God's  hymns; 
They  are  teaching  love,  are  treading  where 

the  spike-pierced  feet  have  trod; 
They  are  helpers  to  the  Master;  they're  in 

partnership  with  God. 
78 


And  it  all  shall  roll  together,  throb  to 
gether,  reach  above, 

Up  to  where  the  Great  Musician  with  more 
than  men  know  of  love 

Lets  his  hands  glide  o'er  the  keyboard  till 
he  finds  the  sought-for  tune 

Sweeter  than  the  smell  and  gladness  of  ten 
million  years  of  June; 

And  men,  soul  attuned,  shall  hear  it  com 
ing  faintly  to  their  ears; 

Though  the  very  sweetness  of  it  may  suf 
fuse  their  eyes  with  tears, 

Yet  the  tears  shall  be  of  gladness,  gushing 
from  long  hidden  springs; 

Love,  just  love,  may  touch  the  keyboard, 
love,  just  love,  vibrate  the  strings. 


79 


A  SIGN 

HP  HE  work  ain't  goin'  so  good,  some- 
*       how, 

I  heard  a  whistle  an'  looked  just  now, 
An* — well,  I  pushed  all  my  work  aside; 
The  city's  streets  were  as  big  an'  wide 
As  the  prairies  were,  an'  buildings  tall 
Had  dwindled  till  they  wa'n't  there  at  all; 
The  magic  of  it  was  something  queer 
For,  for  the  moment  I  was  not  here. 

I  turned  my  head  when  I  heard  the  sound, 
And  my  eyes  lit,  an'  I  looked  around, 
An'  after  searchin'  I  seen  him  there, 
With  a  sunburned  neck  an'  brick-dust  hair, 
An'  his  smudgy  face,  an'  freckled  nose, 
An'  his  ragged  pants,  an'  eager  pose, 
With  his  eyes  alight,  and  feet  apart — 
I  loved  him  so  it  most  hurt  my  heart. 


80 


He  held  his  fingers  up,  this-a-way, 
Like  I  held  my  fingers  yesterday, 
Just  held  them  up,  like  two  rabbit  ears, 
And  them  an'   the  whistle  knocked  the 

years 

Plum  off  of  me;  as  they  slipped  aside 
I  was  a  kid,  an'  as  eager-eyed 
As  the  kid  there  on  the  corner  was; 
It  hits  folks  funny,  remembrance  does. 

As  I  stepped  out  of  the  years  ag'in, 
With  a  boyish  heart  an'  face  a-grin, 
I  stuffed  my  fingers  into  my  mouth 
And  the  soft  wind  from  the  blossomed 

south 

Caught  my  call,  shrill  as  it  used  to  be, 
An*  Redhead  heard  it  an*  looked  at  me; 
I  raised  two  fingers  an*  signed  to  him 
That  I'd  play  hooky  an'  go  an'  swim. 

And  then  the  boy  in  the  ragged  clothes 
Stuck  his  small  thumb  'gainst  his  snubby 

nose, 

An'  wiggled  his  fingers,  so;  an*  you 
Can  bet  I  knew  what  that  sign  meant,  too; 
81 


An7  then  he  stuck  out  his  tongue,  he  did, 
The  derned  little,  redhead,  smudge-faced 

kid! 

And  then  the  city  came  back  once  more, 
With  all  its  rattle  and  rush  and  roar. 

And  years  came  back  as  he  turned  away, 
And  work  came  back,  and  the  streaks  of 

gray 

Came  back  again  in  my  thinning  hair; 
I  looked  again  and  he  wasn't  there, 
The  redhead  kid  with  the  sign  I  knew, 
That  meant:    "Go  swimmin'?"  to  me  an* 

you 

When  we  was  kids,  but  that  sign  an*  smile 
Had  made  me  glad  for  a  little  while. 


82 


LUCK,  THAT'S  ALL 

I T  ain't  good  sense  to  raise  your  head  an* 

•^         tell  what  you  would  do 

If  things  that's  happened  to  your  friends 

would  happen-up  to  you; 
It  ain't  good  sense  to  scorn  another  feller 

if  he  falls, 
There  ain't  no  tellin'  what  you'll  do  if  the 

fool-killer  calls; 
An'  if  a  feller  strays  aside  into  a  crooked 

way 
You  oughtn't  point  him  out  at  all,  nor  have 

a  word  to  say; 
You  ought  to  thank  your  lucky  stars  it 

wa'n't  you  jumped  the  track, 
An'  give  the  other  chap  a  lift  an'  try  to 

coax  him  back. 

For  when  it  comes  to  stubbin'  toes  the  last 
word's  never  said, 
83 


An'  no  man  can  be  sure  he's  safe  until  he's 

safely  dead; 
Nobody  wants  to  leave  the  straight  to  go 

the  crooked  way; 
There  wasn't  ever  anyone  that  pined  to 

go  astray; 
Some  fellers  can't  go  head  held  up  an'  lilt 

a  bit  o'  song 
An'    laugh   temptation   down   the   wind; 

some  fellers  ain't  so  strong, 
Perhaps,  as  you  have  proved  yourself;  but, 

when  the  best  is  said, 
You  ain't  so  sure  you're  strong  yourself 

until  you're  safe  an'  dead. 

That's  why  you  ought  to,  when  you  run 

across  a  derelict, 
Someone  whose  life  is  full  of  falls,  whose 

soul  is  scarred  and  nicked, 
Go  up  an'  slap  him  on  the  back  and  give 

him  howdy- do, 
An'  thank  the  God  that  made  you  both  the 

falls  were  not  for  you; 
For  he  was  weak  where  you  are  strong; 

be  tender  when  you  speak, 
84 


For  everybody's  coat  of  mail  has  got  a  spot 

that's  weak; 
An'  that  yours  hasn't  been  found  out  don't 

prove  it  can't  be  struck; 
The  only  thing  it  proves  at  all  is  that  you've 

been  in  luck. 


85 


ALL  OF  THE  TIME 

A  LL  of  this  life  is  a  lovable  joke; 
**   Sleep  through  it,  eat  through  it,  drink 

through  it,  smoke, 
Laugh  through  it,  love  through  it,  dance 

through  it,  sing — 
Any  old  way  it's  a  lovable  thing! 
Walk  through  it,  crawl  through  it,  auto 

along, 
Ever  and  always  it  bubbles  with  song! 

Always  the  sun  on  a  hill  or  a  tree, 
Always  a  baby  that  gurgles  with  glee, 
Always  a  mother  a  baby  makes  glad, 
Always  somewhere  there's  a  home-coming 

dad, 

Always  someone  flings  a  beggar  a  dime — 
Lovable,  life  is,  and  all  of  the  time. 


86 


Blind?   There  are  songs  filled  with  love  for 

your  ears, 
Heart  notes  which  only  the  blinded  one 

hears. 
Deaf?    You  can  sing  as  you  go  down  the 

way, 

Songs  in  your  heart  of  the  glad  yesterday; 
Loved  ones  about  you  to  press  to  your 

side — 

It's  lovable,  life,  however  you're  tried. 
Deaf,  dumb,  and  blind?    There's  a  lovable 

squeeze 
The  mortal  who  hears,  who  talks,  and  who 

sees 

Can't  gauge  the  joy  of,  when  it  goes  about 
Your  shoulders.     You  know  your  heart 

gives  a  shout, 
And  throbs  with  a  gladness  that  makes  it 

expand — 

A  lovable  life?    All  of  it;  and  grand! 
Poor?    Then  God's  pictures  are  hung  on 

the  skies; 
Hues  of  God's  blossoms  are  free  for  your 

eyes; 


87 


Streams  sing  for  you,  and  the  night  comes 

with  sleep — 
You've   not  a  vault   to  watch  over  and 

keep — 
You  can  laugh,  love  and  sleep;  romp,  run, 

and  climb; 
Lovable,  life  is,  and  all  of  the  time! 


88 


•"THIS  mornin'  when  I  milked  the  cow, 
*•       before  I  started  off  for  town, 
I  had  to  take  her  by  the  horns  an'  tail  an* 

turn  her  upside  down, 
An*   milk  her  that  way;    yes  sirree!   it's 

rained  so  doggone  much  an'  long 
I've  ordered  me  a  submarine.     I  tell  you 

I'm  a-gettin'  strong 
For  sunshine  an'  for  dusty  roads  an'  things 

like  that,  doggone  the  luck! 
Why,  I  ain't  got  a  rooster  that  ain't  wishin' 

he  was  hatched  a  duck; 
An'  mud?     There's  mud  on  everything! 
There's  mud  on  all  my  suits  of  clothes, 
An'  I  have  paddled  'round  so  much  I'm 

gettin'  webs  between  my  toes! 
But  what  makes  me  more  doggone  mid 

than  anything  makes  me,  I  vow, 


89 


Is  this  here  line  of  talk  I  hear:   "This  suits 
you  farmers,  anyhow." 

"This  suits  you  farmers!"   Do  folks  think 

I'm  runnin'  me  a  frog-farm  here, 
Or  raisin'  waterlilies?     Say,  some  folks' 

idees  are  mighty  queer! 
Town  folks  think  farmers  got  to  have  their 

farms  wet  down  so  they  can  wade! 
I  wonder  if  folks  think  that  I  am  raisin' 

tadpoles  for  the  trade? 
If  it  keeps  rainin'  this-a-way  a  little  longer, 

garden  truck 
Won't  do  for  me,  I'll  have  to  go  to  plan  tin' 

eels,  or  buy  a  duck; 
And  have  to  trade  my  cows  and  horse  and 

all  such  things,  it  makes  me  fuss, 
And  go  somewhere  where  I  can  get  a  herd 

of  hippopotamus. 
The  water  is  so  doggone  deep  that  all  the 

bull-frogs  has  been  treed, 
An'  cattle  has  to  ketch  their  breath  and 

dive  to  get  a  bit  of  feed. 


90 


An'  wife  can't  get  to  go  to  town  to  shop, 

an'  the  kid's  eyes  are  full  o'  tears; 
The  water  is  so  doggone  deep  the  mules 

are  breathin'  through  their  ears! 
And  still  town  folks  say:   'This  is  good  for 

people  livin'  on  the  farm." 
That  shows  you  how  much  sense  they  got! 

I  ain't  a-wishin'  them  no  harm, 
Doggone  their  skins!  but  I  would  like  to 

have  them  here  with  me  a  spell, 
An'  make  them  help  me  do  the  chores; 

they  wouldn't  think  I  fared  so  well 
As  they  appear  to  think  I  do.    Town  folks 

do  have  the  queer  idees! 
I'm  'fraid  I'll  have  to  plant  my  corn  up 

in  the  crotches  of  the  trees; 
Why,  just  this  mornin',  'fore  I  fixed  to 

hitch  and  to  drive  into  town, 
I  had  to  swim  to  ketch  the  cow,  and  milk 

the  critter  upside  down! 


91 


HAPPY  HEART 

AIDEN,  with  the  parasol, 

Maiden,  with  the  lilting  call, 
Maiden,  with  the  graceful  poise, 
Maid  with  all  of  the  glad  world's  joys 
Bubbling  in  your  heart  until 
Laughter  seems  to  overspill 
From  your  eyes  in  glinting  glee, 
You're  a  world  of  joy  to  me! 

Yes  you  are!    Your  glinting  eye 
As  you  daily  pass  me  by, 
Drifting  light  as  thistle-down, 
Seems  to  light  up  the  old  town; 
And  the  gladness  of  your  smile 
Makes  all  work  and  life  worth  while. 
Just  your  glee  and  youth  and  grace 
Make  the  world  a  gladsome  place. 


92 


Roses  red  and  glories  blue, 
They  were  all  contrived  for  you; 
If  I  were  a  honey-bee, 
Don't  you  know,  it  seems  to  me 
I  would  dare  death  for  a  sip 
At  your  curved  mischievous  lip; 
Being  but  an  old  man,  I 
Merely  watch  you  drifting  by. 

What  can  people  care  at  all 
For  the  mocker's  lilting  call? 
If  God  blessed  me  with  a  choice 
I  would  always  hear  your  voice 
Lilting  happily  and  free; 
That  would  be  enough  for  me. 
All  the  joy  life  ever  knew 
Bubbles  in  the  heart  of  you. 


93 


THOSE  OLD  DAYS  BENEATH  THE 
BOUGHS 

AY,  do  you  recall  the  rock  in  the  tor- 
rent  where  you  played 

When  a  little  bit  o'  boy?  How  the  syca 
more's  wide  shade 

Covered  it  an'  made  it  cool  in  th'  hottest 
kind  o'  day, 

How  you  used  to,  sprawled  on  it,  let  vaca 
tions  drift  away? 

How  you  builded  castles  tall  that  reached 
almost  to  the  blue? 

But  let's  not  recall  the  dreams,  for  so  few 
of  them  came  true; 

Let  us  not  recall  the  dreams,  far  too  grand 
for  you  and  me, 

Let  us  only  just  go  back  to  the  days  that 
used  to  be; 


94 


They  were  fairer  than  our  dreams  ever 

could  be,  ever  were. 
Those  old  days  beneath  the  boughs  where 

the  branches  used  to  stir. 

Did  you  ever  catch  the  crab,  the  big  one 

that  used  to  dwell 
Underneath  the  sloping  side  of  the  rock 

you  loved  so  well? 
Have  you  ever  gathered  berries  that  half 

way  could  compare 
With  the  red,   luscious  berries  that  you 

gathered  'way  back  there 
On  the  slope  above  the  stream,  berries  big 

an*  wet  with  dew? 
Do  you  ever  taste  a  fruit  whose  rare  flavor 

brings  to  you 
Like  a  movin'  picture  scene,  all  the  joys 

you  used  to  know, 
The  big  rock  above  the  stream  where  you 

used  to  love  to  go, 
An*  the  laughter  of  the  boys  'way  back 

there  with  whom  you  played, 
An'  almost  knee-deep  shallows  where  you 

used  to  love  to  wade? 
95 


Where  you  used  to  fish  for  minnows  while 

waters  used  to  swish, 
And  you  would  sit  there  breathless,  fear 
ing  lest  you  scare  the  fish; 
It  was  fun  to  throw  your  duds  on  the  rock 

an'  dare  the  tide, 
Almost  deep  enough  to  swim,  an'  to  splash 

from  side  to  side 
Playing  tag,  splashing  water  in  the  other 

fellows'  eyes; 
Do  you  ever,  sitting  lonely,  when  daylight 

fades  and  dies 
See  the  road  go  winding  round  up  the  hill 

and  far  away 
To  the  home  that  waited  you  at  the  end  of 

every  day? 
Is  the  home  that  waited  you  up  and  over 

the  big  hill 
Lost  to  you  forever,  is  a  strange  foot  upon 

its  sill? 

And  I  wonder  if  you  can,  if  you  try,  recall 

once  more 
How  you  labored  all  one  day  till  your 

hands  were  bruised  and  sore 
96 


With  a  rock  and  a  big  nail,   till  you'd 

graven  big  and  deep 
The  initials  of  your  name?    Those  initials 

meant  a  heap 
To  the  boy  away  back  there,  the  glad  boy 

you  used  to  be, 
The  wee  boy  who  used  to  sprawl  on  the 

rock  beneath  the  tree; 
Have  you  ever  had  a  longin'  to  go  back 

where  you  were, 
Where  you  carved  your  name  that  day, 

where  the  branches  used  to  stir? 
If  you  have,  don't  you  do  it!     Keep  the 

memory  as  fair 
As  it  was  when  you  were  glad  and  a  part 

of  it  back  there. 


97 


ALL  WELL 

EFORE    Bill    upped    an'  married  an' 

left  the  old  home  farm 
I'm  'fraid  that  I  was  most  too  strict;  there 

wasn't  any  harm, 
I  don't  suppose,  in  lettin'  him  take  Molly, 

meetin'  nights 
An'  take  his  sweetheart  ridin',  when  the 

rosy  northern  lights 
Was  lightin'  up  the  heavens,  an'  the  old 

earth  down  below, 
An'  makin'  rosy  flickers  on  the  heaps  o' 

drifted  snow; 
But  I  never  let  him  take  her,  an'  it  used  to 

make  him  cross; 
I  reckon  I  thought  'most  too  much  o'  that 

old  Molly-hoss. 

So — mother  called  him  William,  like  the 
most  o'  mothers  will, 
98 


Though  to  me  an'  all  the  hired  hands  his 

name  was  only  Bill — 
Bill  went  his  way,  an*  I  went  mine,  th'  way 

I'd  made  the  start; 
An'  day  by  day  an'  year  by  year  we  growed 

more  far  apart; 
An'  when  he  took  his  girl  out  for  a  snug- 

glin'  moonlight  hike 
Across  the  hills  he  didn't  git  the  hoss  that 

he  would  like, 
But  mostly  took  a  plow-boss,  just  a  heavy 

ploddin'  plug, 
Although  I  know  a  plow-hoss  takes  one 

safest  through  a  hug. 

An'  now  he's  married.    I  declare!   It's  been 

almost  a  year! 
An'  mother's  settin'  in  the  house,  an'  I'm 

a-settin'  here 
An'  feelin'  sort  of  lonesome,  sort  of  like 

I'd  missed  the  mark 
A-raisin'  our  one  chicken — an'  I'm  headed 

toardst  the  dark, 
An'  Bill'll  get  the  farm  some  day,  an'  plow 

the  furrows,  too, 
99 


Across  the  fields  I  used  to  plow  an'  tried 

to  plow  so  true; 
I  guess  I  thought  too  much  of  all  the  fields 

I  had  to  till, 
An'  too  much  of  ol'  Molly-hoss,  an'  skurce 

enough  o'  Bill. 

I  oughter  made  a  chum  o'  him,  he  can't 

care  fur  his  dad, 
Or  love  me  like  he  would' ve  done,  I  reckon, 

if  I  had; 
I  was  plum  wrong —    Is  that  Bill's  boss 

a-comin'  down  the  hill! 
Good    heavens!     Somethin's     happened! 

God!  don't  let  it  be  to  Bill! 
Why,  that's  Bill's  self  a-drivin'— like  his 

coattails  was  afire! 
Good  gracious!  Don't  that  youngster  think 

that  bosses  never  tire? 
What's  that?    You've  got  a  baby!    And 

you've  named  it  after  me? 
You  did— why,   Bill!— I    didn't    think— 

I'm  proud  as  I  kin  be! 


100 


COME  day  Til  fill  up  my  pipe  an'  slip 

***      into  an  old  coat  an'  go 

Until  I  come  to  a  little  town,  a  little  old 

town  I  know; 
Where  the  dusty  road  winds  round  an' 

down  an'  comes  to  a  burblin'  stream 
An'  trees  'way  off  on  the  distant  hills  are 

touched  by  the  sunset  gleam 
Until  their  green  takes  the  hue  of  gold,  an' 

out  of  the  distance  still 
Comes  the  faint  note  of  the  nightbird's 

call,  the  plaint  of  the  whippoorwill; 
An'  there  I'll  meet  the  friends  I  knew  in 

the  days  that  are  past  an'  gone; 
The  boys,  they're  ruther  old  boys  today, 

I  met  at  the  gates  o'  dawn. 


101 


There  wasn't  one  in  the  old  home  town  but 

who  was  as  close  as  kin; 
I  never  knocked  at  a  door  back  there,  I 

whistled  an'  went  right  in; 
An'  there  were  cookies,  I  taste  them  now, 

the  mothers  o'  those  days  made; 
They  always  kept  them  on  hand    for  boys, 

an*  there  was  a  creek  to  wade, 
An'  barns  an'  lofts  where  a  boy  could  romp 

an'  put  in  a  rainy  day, 
Or  sneak  a  copy  of  Deadwood  Dick  to  read 

on  the  smelly  hay; 
An'  so  I'm  thinkin'  I'll  go  back  there,  to 

the  old  home  town  sometime, 
Where  I  know  each  song  of  the  bouldered 

creek,  an'  there  is  a  hill  to  climb. 

An'  I  will  slip  off  the  train  back  there,  an' 

mix  with  the  old  time  crowd, 
An'  get  my  name  in  the  paper,  too;  an' 

maybe  I  won't  be  proud! 
That's  been  my  aim  for  these  many  years, 

to  get  in  the  old  home  sheet; 
"One  of  our  home  boys,"  it  will  say,  an' 

each  friend  o'  my  youth  I  meet 
102 


Will  say:    "I  seen  you  was  back  in  town 

in  an  editorial;  say, 
By  jing,  old  feller,  it  seems  to  me  you're 

gettin'  a  little  gray!" 
An*  that  will  be  by  way  of  a  joke;   I'll 

laugh  as  I  used  to  do; 
But  it  ain't  much  of  a  joke,  because  I  know 

in  my  heart  it's  true. 


103 


MIDSUMMER  NIGHTS  DREAM 

WERE  fine  upon  these  July  nights 

to  wander  far  away, 
To  leave  the  work  and  worry  and  the  cares 

of  every  day, 
To  leave  the  town  behind  one  and  go  out 

where  winds  are  cool, 
To   where   a   tree    throws   shadows    deep 

across  a  bayou  pool, 
And  there  lie  prone  upon  the  grass  and 

watch  the  stars  come  out 
Where  only  just  the  noises  of  the  night 

are  all  about, 
And  candle-bugs  flit  all  about,  and  frogs 

call  from  the  pool 
And  all  the  wide  world  seems  at  peace,  and 

all  the  world  seems  cool. 


104 


To  just  lie  sprawled  out  on  the  grass  and 

hear  the  owl's  to-whoo, 
'Way  out  where  not  a  city  voice  brings  any 

fret  to  you, 
And  all  the  world  is  sweet  with  peace,  and 

winds  are  in  the  trees, 
And  lullabies  of  old  seem  to  come  to  you 

on  the  breeze; 
To  lie  there  and  to  just  forget  that  days 

are  full  of  toil, 
That  the  tomorrow  will  come  in  with  sweat 

and  rush  and  moil; 
Forget  the  town,  forget  the  toil,  forget  the 

things  to  do, 
And  just  imagine  that  the  night  and  stars 

were  made  for  you. 

Just  hypnotize  yourself;  forget  the  price  of 
ham  and  eggs; 

Sip  lightly  of  life's  brimming  cup,  forget 
the  bitter  dregs; 

Forget  life's  hurts,  forget  false  friends,  for 
get  life's  jolts  and  jars; 

Just  yield  yourself  to  the  cool  night  and  let 
it  heal  your  scars; 
105 


Just  put  your  hands  behind  your  head  and 
dream  of  bygone  days, 

A  little  girl  you  knew  of  old,  and  old  re 
membered  ways; 

And  things  she  said,  and  things  you  said, 
and  how  you  held  her  hand, 

And  life  seemed  set  to  a  sweet  tune  and  all 
the  world  seemed  grand. 

The  city  is  a  fearsome  place;  the  city  streets 

are  hot; 
Go  wander  off  across  the  dark,  across  the 

meadow-lot, 
And  find  a  place  no  other  one  has  found, 

and  watch  the  trees 
Stand   dark   against   the  summer  sky  or 

gently  feel  the  breeze 
And  sway  in  rhythm  to  its  song,  and  watch 

the  ripples  flow 
Beneath  the  stars  right  to  your  feet  as  in 

the  long  ago 
They  used  to  flow,  and  feel  again  all  the 

old-time  delights, 
And  then  go  back  made  strong,  and  armed 

to  fight  a  thousand  fights. 
106 


MIRACLES 

QOME  folks  make  me  tired!  Their  argu- 
^       ments 

Is  so  denied  lackin'  any  kind  o'  sense 
That  I  can't  argue  with  them!  I  won't  try! 
I  wave  'em  to  one  side  an'  pass  'em  by. 
If  they'd  confine  theirselves  to  politics — 
But  I  git  crosser  than  a  pair  o'  sticks 
When  they  knock  at  religion,  an'  they  say: 
"Why  ain't  there  any  miracles  to-day?" 

Why  ain't  there  any  miracles  to-day! 
When  the  sun  rises  can  a  feller  say 
That  ain't  a  miracle?    An'  when  the  moon 
Lights  up  the  night,  an'  the  air  smells  o' 

June, 

And  all  the  world  is  bubblin'  full  o'  love, 
It  makes  me  wonder  what  they're  thin  kin' 

of! 

107 


An'  when  October  comes  an'  paints  the 

trees! 
If  miracles  are  wanted  what  are  these? 

The  mornin's  an'  the  nights,  the  wavin' 
trees, 

The  lights  that  lies  on  mountains,  plains, 
an'  seas; 

The  bu'stin'  buds  o'  spring,  the  changin' 
fall, 

The  little  streams  a -sin  gin',  an'  the  call 

Of  birds,  far-sent  from  some  woodland  re 
cess, 

A  father's  love,  a  mother's  tenderness, 

The  tall  red  cannas  that  dip  down  an' 
sway — 

And  yet  there  ain't  no  miracle  to-day! 

And  then  we  go  a-tippytoe  some  morn 
To  where  a  little  baby,  newly  born, 
Is  lyin'  like  a  crumpled  rose  leaf  lies, 
As  pink  an'  pure,  an'  in  its  vi'let  eyes 
A  look  of  reminiscence  of  far  things, 
Of  heaven-slopes  an'  of  white  angel-wings, 

108 


And  things  that  we've  been  here  till  we've 

forgot — 
No  miracles  today!    Who  says  there's  not? 

Why,  every  babe's  a  miracle,  I  know! 
Two  of  'em  call  me  Daddy;  when  you  go 
An'  stand  beside  a  newborn  baby's  bed 
Its  eyes  tight  shut  in  sleep,  its  fluffy  head 
So  light  it  hardly  dents  the  piller,  you 
Are  gazin'  on  a  miracle;  a  few 
Can't  seem  to  see  it,  but  it  ain't  unkind 
To   tell   em'   when   they   can't,   by   jing, 
they're  blind! 

When  a  new  baby,  where  it's  lyin'  at 
Laughs  in  its  sleep  until  it  shakes  its  fat, 
Just  laughs  an'  laughs  an'  chuckles,  don't 

you  s'pose 
There's    some  thin'    that    that    little    baby 

knows 

That  it  ain't  had  no  time  to  learn  on  earth, 
That  makes  it  shake  its  side  for  all  its 

worth? 
There's  miracles   to  burn,   big  ones  an* 

small, 

But  a  new  babe's  the  grandest  one  of  all. 
109 


THE  COVERED  BRIDGE 

HP  HE  new  steel  bridge  across  the  crick's 
•*       a  pritty  thing  to  see, 
As  gauzy  and  as  spidery  as  any  bridge 

could  be; 
It's  floor's  just  like  a  solid  road,  cemented 

good  an'  tight, 
An'  it's  all  painted  red,  an'  it's  a  ruthev 

pritty  sight; 
But  it  don't  have  no  charms  fer  me,  don't 

please  me  not  at  all; 
The  crick  goes  gurglin'  just  the  same,  an' 

givin'  the  old  call, 
An'  singin'  comes  along  an'  slips  beneath 

the  river  road; 
But  the  new  bridge  ain't  like  the  bridge, 

the  covered  bridge  we  knowed. 

We  used  to  climb  the  slipp'ry  rocks  that  led 
up  to  the  ridge, 
110 


An'  stump  each  other  divin'  off  o'  that  old 

covered  bridge; 
I  learned  to  swim  in  its  cool  shade  in  the 

old  swimmin'  hole, 
An'  used  to  sit  beneath  it  with  my  can  o' 

worms  an'  pole 
An'  fish  fer  pouts  an'  suckers,  an'  fer  cats 

th'  hull  day  long, 
Whilst  all  the  time  the  crick  went  by  a-sing- 

in'  of  its  song; 
An'  so  the  new  bridge  don't  fill  up  the  place 

the  old  bridge  did, 
The  covered  bridge  we  romped  in  when  I 

was  a  little  kid. 

The  covered  bridge  our  voices  went  a-roll- 

in',  boomin'  through, 
Almost  a-scarin'  of  ourselves  each  time  we 

hollered,  "boo"; 
An'  'twas  the  dearest  courtin'  place  that  all 

the  country  knew, 
An'  lovers  walked  from  miles  around  to 

meet  an'  bill  an'  coo 
In  its  brown  shadows,  an'  each  day  'twas 

dark  enough,  you  wis 

111 


Fer   two   to   pause,    an'    heart   to   heart, 

exchange  a  lovin'  kiss; 
An*  Maggie's  name  was  carved  in  it  with 

my  name,  side  by  side; 
I  carved  them  there  while  she  looked  on, 

the  day  she  was  a  bride. 

The  day  she  was  a  bride — Oh,  that  was  very 

long  ago! 
Our  children  all  played  in  its  shade,  an', 

when  the  lights  git  low, 
I   hear   their   footsteps    romp   an*    dance 

across  its  soundin'  floor, 
An'  hear  the  happy  laughter  of  the  ones 

that  come  no  more; 
An'  through  its  arches  many  times  a  slow 

procession  wound, 
An*  to  the  buryin'  ground  beyond,  where, 

each  beneath  a  mound, 
Our  little  children  lie  asleep  beside  their 

ma.    To  me 
The  new  bridge  ain't  so  pritty  as  the  old 

bridge  used  to  be. 


112 


THE  OLD  DIRT  ROAD 

H,  the  old  dirt  path  that  was  almost 

overgrowed 
With  the  grass  and  the  bushes  by  the  old 

dirt  road 
That  went  windin'  in  an'  out  by  the  old 

rail  fence, 
It's  a-callin'  to  me  now.    It's  a  long  time 

sence 
I  have  walked  in  the  dust  that  was  soft 

to  my  feet, 
Like  a  carpet  o'  velvet,  an'  night  air  so 

sweet 

Just  breathin'  it  in  was  a  everlastin'  joy, 
Just  breathin'  of  it  in,  an'  bein'  just  a  boy! 

Oh,  the  old  dirt  road!    How  it  wound  from 

side  to  side! 
'Twas  just  a  narrow  track,  an'  the  world 

was  so  wide 

113 


There  was  hardly  no  use  for  the  old  road 

at  all, 
But  the  robins  'ud  build,  an'  orioles  'ud 

call 
Along  its  twisty  length  where  it  wound  in 

an*  out — 
Once  it  turned  by  a  pool  that  was  plum 

full  of  trout, 
Once  it  turned  in  a  field  to  a  spring  by 

a  tree; 
Just   an   old   dirt   road,   as   contented   as 

could  be. 

A  lazy,  good-for-nothin'  careless  kind  o' 

road! 
I  can  see  it  now,  an'  the  weeds  that  over- 

growed 
Its  edges,  an'  berries  that  in  season  'ud 

hang 
From  bushes  in  corners  where  wildbirds 

hid  an*  sang — 
See  it  like  it  wound,  white  an'  misty  'neath 

the  stars, 
Hear  cattle  callin'  as  they  gether  by  the 

bars! 

114 


I'm  homesick  to  go  to  it!     Homesick  as 

can  be! — 
It's  always,  forever,  a-callin',  callin*  me. 


115 


I   WOULDN'T  have  dasted  ask  her  if  I'd 

*"        stopped  to  think  at  all; 

But  the  glory  vines  was  climbin'  in  a  riot 

on  the  wall, 
An'  I  had  picked  up  Jones'  boy,  a  little 

an'  barefoot  tad, 
An'  had  took  him  walkin'  with  me  cause  it 

always  made  him  glad 
For    to    have    a    grown-up    notice    him, 

espeshly  if  'twas  me; 
So  we  cantered  off  together.    No  one  seein' 

us  would  be 
Ap'  to  think  I  was  a  bachelor,  satisfied  an' 

plum  resigned 
To  his  state,  an'  knowed  all  over  as  the 

woman-hatin'  kind. 


116 


An'  Tad  trotted  on  beside  me  with  his  hand 

hold  of  my  hand, 
His  feet  an'  tongue  a-goin',  both  of  'em,  to 

beat  the  band; 
An'  afore  I  was  su  spec  tin'  it,  the  thought 

snuck  up  on  me 
That  when  fellers  without  babies  gits  as 

old  as  they  can  be, 
An'  ain't  got  no  kin  to  love  'em,  an'  ain't 

got  no  little  kids 

To  hold  in  their  arms  an'  croon  to  night 
times  when  the  katydids 
Is  a-chirpin'  in  the  thickets,  an'  the  moon's 

a-shinin'  through 
The  tall  trees,  an'  night-birds  holler,  what 

in  God's  name  do  they  do? 

What  in  God's  name  do  they  do  at  all,  an' 

what  can  they  be  worth? 
Just  a  clod,  a  bump  on  nature,  just  a-clut- 

terin'  the  earth! 
An'   'twas  whilst  I   was  a-thinkin'   these 

strange  thoughts  we  come  to  where 
She  was  s  tan  din',  leanin'  over  the  old  mint 

wall;  her  hair 

117 


Sort  of  frazzled  round  her  forrid,  was  a 

golden  sort  o'  fuzz; 
An'  her  eyes  was  the  same  color  that  the 

mornirT  glories  was; 
An'  she  had  Jones'  little  girl,  Tad's  sister, 

along  o'  her, 
An'  was  snugglin'  her  an'  talkin'  when  we 

come  to  where  they  were. 

And  we  neither  one  said  nothin',  didn't 

have  a  word  to  say, 
An'  the  children  went  together  for  to  git 

us  a  bokay, 
An'    a    bird    away    off    somewhere    sung 

ka-hoot,  ka-hoot,  ka-hoot; 
An'  I  stood  a  while  a-lookin  'at  the  worn 

toe  of  my  boot, 
An'  then  I  looked  into  her  eyes  an'  looked 

right  away  again, 
An'  after  awhile  when  I  looked  back  her 

eyes  was  lookin'  in 
My  eyes,   an'   then  she  looked  away  as 

fluttered  as  she  could  be, 
An'  I  heard  my  voice  a-sayin':   "Would 

you  marry  up  with  me?" 
118 


An'   then  the  pinkest  rose-flush  run  all 

across  her  neck,  an'  run 
To  her  cheeks,  like  paints  the  apple  on  the 

side  that's  near  the  sun, 
An1  her  answer  was  just  whispered,  but  it 

raised  me  by  the  hair 
An'  set  me  down  right  in  heaven  where  the 

happy  angels  air! 
An'  I  said:  "I  can't  help  wonderin'  why  a 

girl  as  sweet  as  you 
Has  gone  single?"   An'  a  glimmer  lighted 

up  her  eyes  o'  blue, 
An'  we  sorter  leaned  together,  where  the 

mornin'  glories  climb, 
An*  she  said:  '  'Twas  your  fault,  Jasper, 

but  I  knowed  you'd  ask  sometime." 


119 


RAIN-WET 

f  T  rained  last  night,  and  the  whole  wide 
*•         world 

Looks  sweet  and  clean  as  it  ought  to  be; 
Like  a  baby  bathed  and  dressed  and  curled, 

And  eyes  a-glint  with  a  baby's  glee; 
And  pink  and  purple  and  azure  blue 

The    morning    glories    look    fresh    and 

sweet; 
And  fresh  red  roses  are  wet  with  dew, 

And  grass  is  softer  beneath  the  feet. 
And  everywhere,  where  a  rainbow  hit 

A  jasmine  bud  it  has  opened  up, 
And  a  gem  lies  at  the  heart  of  it; 

And  a  gem  lies  in  the  lily's  cup; 
And  trees  look  fresher  and  twice  as  cool, 

And  twice  as  green  as  they  were  last 

night, 
And  children  wade  in  a  wayside  pool, 

Splashing  and  shrieking  in  mad  delight. 
120 


What  a  good  old  world!    How  clean  and 
sweet 

The  busy  old  world  is  after  all! 
Its  shaded  paths  coax  our  weary  feet, 

And  every  morning  the  mocker's  call 
Comes  with  the  very  first  streaks  of  dawn, 

With  all  the  beauty  the  day-dawns  hold, 
And  all  the  fears  of  the  night  are  gone, 

And  the  morning  is  azure  and  gold! 

And  babies  lift  as  the  glories  do, 

Their   fresh  sweet  faces   and  nod   and 

smile, 

The  grass  is  green  and  the  skies  are  blue 
And   life   is   sweet   and   is   well   worth 

while; 
Whatever  fate  may  be  holding  back 

The  strength  to  bear  it  is  given  when 
Fresh   out  of   the   night   and   storm   and 

wrack 

The   world    comes   bringing   its    youth 
again. 

The  cattle  low  and  the  butterfly 
Flies  lazily  past  the  blossoms  sweet, 
121 


And  perfumed  breezes  are  drifting  by 
And  bending  daisies  and  meadow-sweet; 

Whenever  the  tasks  of  life  are  done, 
And  our  marching  banners  dipped  and 
furled, 

May  that  land  past  the  westering  sun 
Look  half  as  good  as  the  rain-wet  world. 


122 


SUGAR  LUMPS 

I    ET  us  go  away  off  yonder  down  a  path 

*"-      that  used  to  be, 

'Way   across    the   little    footbridge,    'way 

beyond  the  apple  tree; 
Skirt  the  hill  the  way  we  used  to,  skirt  the 

ruffled  wayside  pool, 
With  our  books  and  slates  and  pencils,  to 

the  little  country  school; 
To   the   room  with   its   long   blackboards 

where  we  labored  every  day, 
To  the  yard  where  during  recess  boys  and 

girls  played  pull-away, 
Or  the  girls,  off  in  their  corner,  would  play 

prisoner's  base,  and  run 
Full  of  happiness  and   gladness,   full  of 

laughter  in  the  sun. 


123 


Let's  go  back  to  a  far  springtime  where  the 

mellow  sunlight  shines, 
To   the   little   girls   we   loved   then;    who 

inspired  our  valentines; 
Girls  whose  locks  were  golden  yellow,  girls 

whose  eyes  were  cobalt  blue, 
Girls  to  whom  we  wrote  in  loving:  "Sugar's 

sweet  and  so  are  you." 
Girls  in  pinafores  and  collars,  starched  and 

clean  as  they  could  be, 
Girls  who  'way  across  the  schoolroom  used 

to  smile  on  you  and  me; 
Let's  go  back,  away  back  yonder,  down 

the  paths  we  used  to  know, 
To  the  "sugar  lumps"  we  loved  so  in  the 

happy  long  ago. 

You    remember    I    am    certain    how    our 

hearts  would  throb  and  race, 
How  those  days  all  of  a  sudden  I  began 

to  wash  my  face 
And  to  keep  it  washed,  and  how  you  used 

to  comb  and  brush  your  hair, 
And  we  scrubbed  our  necks  until  we  were 

the  cleanest,  pinkest  pair 
124 


Of  schoolboys  in  the  whole  village,  and 

how  father  used  to  grin, 
And  the  look  that  mother 'd  give  us  when 

we'd  come  a-marchin'  in 
With  a  flower  pinned  onto  us.    How  she'd 

love  and  squeeze  us  two! 
Oh,  the  girls  away  back  yonder!    Naught 

could  cut  our  love  in  two! 

Oh,  the  girls  away  back  yonder!    And  the 

perforated  scrolls 
That  each  year  took  them  our  message; 

heaven  bless  their  little  souls! 
Just  the  memory  of  their  sweetness  and 

the  days  that  used  to  be 
Makes  that  time  away  back  yonder  seem 

the  best  in  life  to  me! 
Years  have  stretched  their  length  between 

us  as  the  years  are  wont  to  do, 
Severing  the  loves  we  used  to  swear  no 

knife  could  cut  in  two; 
But  when  springtime  wakes  the  blossoms 

and  warms  up  the  out-of-doors 
Memory  goes  back  and  snuggles  by  the 

girls  in  pinafores. 

125 


JUST  COIN'  TO  DAWDLE  ALONG 
THE  WAY 

¥     AM  goin'  to  laze  along, 

*     Pausin'  to  hark  to  every  song 

Of  bird  an*  breeze  an*  brook  an*  tree, 

An*  every  kind  of  minstrelsy 

The  world  knows,  an*  sings;  an*  all 

Of  it,  its  littlest  wee  call 

Will  git  response  from  me,  an*  I 

Shall  dawdle  'long  beneath  the  sky; 

Just  like  a  feller  waitin'  till 

Th'  first  call  o'  the  whippoorwill 

Tells  him  it's  courtin'  time;  th'  time 

When  life  seems  flowin'  to  a  rhyme. 

Goin'  to  wait  like  that  I  be, 
Till  your  glad  feet  ketch  up  with  me; 
Till  you,  'cross  fields  o'  babyhood 
An'  youth  an'  truth,  an'  all  that's  good 

126 


Have  come  to  me;  have  tripped  along — 
Just  like  the  spirit  of  some  song 
Your  mother  used  to  sing  to  you 
Had  grew  an*  grew  an'  grew  an*  grew, 
Until  the  song  got  so  blamed  small 
It  couldn't  hold  it  in  at  all, 
An'  it  had  had  to  crystallize 
Into  a  woman  with  glad  eyes. 

Had  had  to  be  a  livin'  thing! 
A  livin',  breathin',  sweet — By  jing! 
Th'  promise  of  what  you  will  be 
Fills  up  this  heart  inside  o'  me 
Till  I  feel  like  she's  'bout  to  bust! 
An'  then  again  I  sort  o'  just 
Wish  you  would  stay  a  little  girl; 
With  every  little  tousled  curl 
Just  like  it  was;  an'  always  glad 
To  snuggle  in  the  arms  of  dad, 
An'  sigh,  an'  drop  away  to  sleep 
With  him  a-lovin'  you  a  heap. 

Heigh-oh!   Oh-hum!   My  eyes  gits  dim 
A-thinkin'  things,  an'  over-brim 
With  tears;  but  men  don't  never  cry — 
127 


It's  prob'ly  smoke.    I  wonder  why 

I  wasn't  took?    Your  ma  would  be 

Ten  times  a  better  man  than  me 

To  bring  a  girl  up;  but  I  guess 

God  sort  of  knows  His  bizziness; 

Men  can  earn  more — I  'spose  it's  best — 

Well,  it's  time  that  you  was  undressed 

An'  said  your  "lay  me  down  to  sleep — " 

Dad's  still  here,  lovin*  you  a  heap. 


128 


THE  LONG  SWEET-SMELLING 
DAYS 

•T^HE  ox-driver  with  his  goad, 
*         And  the  oxen  with  their  load, 
And  the  up-and-down  and  winding,  dusty, 

townward  wending  road, 
And  the  blue  jay  on  a  rail 
Switchin'  of  his  sassy  tail, 
And  a-scoldin'  in  a  language  that  don't 
never  seem  to  fail. 

And  the  whirrin'  of  the  mill 
Over  yonder  by  the  hill, 
With   the  buzzin'    of   its   sawin'    sort   of 

minglin'  with  the  rill, 
Till  afur  it  sort  of  seems 
Like  the  singin'  heard  in  dreams, 
Like    the    liftin',    ripplin',    liltin'    of    the 
dreamland  bordered  streams. 

129 


An*  the  long  sweet-smellin*  days 
Bloomin'  from  a  sort  of  haze 
Every  mornin',  that  drifts  backward  leavin' 

dewy  country  ways 
Stretchin'  far  an'  straight  ahead, 
Blossom  bordered  an'  all  spread 
With  dust-layin'  dew,  and  softer  than  a 
carpet  to  the  tread. 

An'  I'm  sorry  till  I  frown 
Thinkin'  of  the  folks  in  town, 
With  their  hurryin',  worryin',  an*  rushin' 

up  and  down, 

Glad  to  simply  work  and  live; 
Never  knowin'  when  they've  striv 
Any  gladness  like  the  gladness  that  the 
country  ways  can  give. 

I  may  never,  never  know 
Nights  o'  jostlin'  to  an'  fro 
Where  the  theayters  are  crowded  an'  the 

streets  are  all  aglow; 
But  I  know  of  bush  an'  tree 
An'  the  heavens  over  me, 
An'  my  happy  red-cheeked  babies  make  me 
glad  as  I  can  be. 
130 


MACHINE  LIMITATIONS 

f'D  love  to  sit  by  this  machine 

•*•     And  slowly  touch  the  yielding  keys, 

Till  the  whole  world  should  see  the  sheen 

Of  Rocky  River  through  the  trees; 
See  the  slate  cliffs  I  used  to  know, 

And  see  the  spider-webby  span 
Of  the  bridge  known  so  long  ago, 

Away  back  where  my  life  began. 

I'd  love  to  take  the  world  with  me 

Across  my  white  typewriter  keys, 
Until  the  whole  wide  world  should  see 

The  things  I  see,  feel  the  same  breeze 
Upon  its  cheek;  should  go  and  wade 

With  me  across  the  shallow  ford; 
And  climb  the  cliff's  face,  unafraid, 

And  drink  with  me  from  the  old  gourd. 

The  keys  are  unresponsive  things! 
They  never  quite  interpret  right 
131 


The  song  that's  in  one's  heart,  and  sings 
Its  throbbing  notes  out  to  the  night; 

The  song  of  youth  and  gladsome  days, 
The  song  of  blossomed  slopes  and  bees, 

The  song  of  sumach  bordered  ways, 
And  forest  glades  and  shady  trees. 

They  never  can  quite  make  the  world 

See  the  rare  color  in  the  air — 
As  if  the  sunset  banners  furled 

Had  left  their  sweetest  colors  there; 
A  color  warm  as  sweetheart  lips! 

A  color  holding  all  the  gold 
Of  truant  locks,  pink  as  the  tips 

Of  little  fingers  known  of  old. 

Let  my  stiff  fingers  stray  across 

The  iv'ry  faces  as  they  may, 
I  cannot  make  the  branches  toss, 

I  cannot  make  the  roses  sway 
The  way  I'd  like  the  world  to  see, 

The  way  I'd  like  the  world  to  know, 
Or  the  whole  world  would  sing  with  me 

Sweet  love  songs  of  the  long  ago. 

132 


A  CASE  O'  CAN'T  HELP  IT 

IT'S  just  a  case  o'  can't  help  it  with  me, 

•*•  By  gee! 

It's  a  case  o'  can't  help  it  with  me, 

Whoopee ! 

When  I  see  a  tow-headed  boy  or  a  girl, 
I  feel  like  I'd  like  to  just  kiss  every  curl, 
And  grab  'em  right  up  and  just  give  'em 

a  whirl; 

It's  a  case  o'  can't  help  it  with  me! 
It's  a  case  o'  can't  help  it  with  me, 

By  jing! 
For  it  makes  me  feel  glad  as  can  be, 

And  sing? 
My  heart  beats  in  ragtime!  And  hammers 

around, 

My   feet   do   a   rhythmical   stunt   on   the 
ground, 

133 


I   feel   I   could   grab   'em  and  waltz   'em 

around! 
It's  a  case  o'  can't  help  it  with  me! 

A  sweet  tow-headed,  glad,  little  girl, 

Ah,  me! 
Or  a  boy!   How  they  set  me  awhirl, 

By  gee! 

I  simply  can't  help  it!    I  git  full  o'  laugh, 
I  tell  'em  hello,  an'  I  joke  an'  I  chaff, 
I  caper  an'  prance  like  a  big  yearlin'  calf; 
It's  a  case  o'  can't  help  it  with  me. 


134 


IF  I  HAD  MY  WAY 

I F  I  had  my  way,  and  money  to 

Do  all  the  things  I  should  like  to  do, 
I'd  give  a  chuckle  and  laugh  and  shout 
And  wipe  the  orphan  asylums  out! 
Each  heart  which  craves  for  a  baby  boy, 
Or  little  girl,  with  a  throb  of  joy 
Should  get  her  wish  and  tight  to  her  breast 
Each  one  should  clasp  which  she  loved  the 

best; 

An'  croon  songs  to  it  when  it  grew  late, 
An'  I  would  chuckle  an'  pay  the  freight. 

There  are  lots  who  long  for  babies  small, 
To  hear  them  patter  along  the  hall; 
Who  walk  sad-hearted  and  all  alone, 
Without  a  baby  to  call  their  own; 
And  that's  where  I  would  come  in,  by  jing! 
And  orphan  'sylums  would  all  go,  bing! 

135 


I'd  stoop  and  kiss  every  up-turned  face, 
An'  leave  that  'sylum  the  lonest  place 
That  you  ever  knew,  without  the  call 
Of  a  laughin',  rompin'  babe  at  all! 

Or,  if  I  but  had  the  money  to 
There's  another  thing  I  b'lieve  I'd  do — 
I'd  put  them  other  folks  on  the  shelf 
An'  mother  the  whole  big  bunch  myself! 
And  days  we'd  romp,  and  would  laugh  and 

play, 

Out  over  the  hills  and  far  away; 
An'  nights  I'd  sit  by  a  big  grate  fire 
An'  tell  'em  tales  whilst  the  flames  went 

higher; 

An'  pray  to  the  Lord  each  soul  to  keep, 
As  fast  as  they  snuggled  down  to  sleep. 

Till   angel   mothers    peeped    through    the 

night, 
An'  said:   "He's  got  'em  an'  they're  all 

right!" 

And  when  they  grew  tired  of  romp  and  run 
A  tender  woman  should  love  each  one, 

136 


An*  when  they  waked  in  the  morning  blue, 
All  pink  an'  dimpled  an'  eager  to 
Get  out  an*  run  in  a  happy  crowd, 
I'd  snuggle  them  till  they  laughed  out  loud; 
An*  they'd  be  glad  as  the  bees  that  buzz, 
An'  'ud  never  know  what  a  spankin'  was. 


137 


TOGETHER 

HP  HE  sun  shines  as  warm,  and  the  world 
*       is  as  young — 

But  we — we  are  older; 
And  sweet  were  the  songs  that  the  wild- 
birds  have  sung, 
But  days  have  grown  colder; 
And  bleak  winds  are  swooping  down  out 

of  the  skies, 

Are  swooping  and  blowing; 
The  red  rose  we  loved  is  all  wrecked,  and 

it  lies 
Where  erst  it  was  growing. 

Once  life  was  all  youth,  and  bright  red 

was  its  mouth, 
And  pouting  for  kisses; 
But  now  the  sweet  songsters  have  flown 

away  south; 
One  listens,  but  misses 
138 


The  call  of  the  mocker  concealed  in  his  tree, 

The  cardinal's  calling; 
A  cold  wind  is  blowing  in  off  from  the  sea, 

And  shadows  are  falling. 

Do  you  care?    Are  you  sad  that  birds  are 

away; 

Sad,  dear  one,  and  grieving? 
Do  you  care  that  your  locks  are  sprinkled 

with  gray? 

That  gold  locks  are  leaving? 
We  have  walked  up  the  trail  from  glad 

days  of  youth, 
In  hand  and  together; 
Have  laughed  loud  in  glee  at  the  shadow 

of  ruth; 
Have  laughed  at  the  weather. 

We    have    walked    with    a    laugh    where 

blossoms  are  tall, 

Hands  clasped,  through  the  meadows; 
Have  loved  and  have  laughed,   hand  in 

hand  through  it  all; 
Let's  laugh  at  the  shadows! 

139 


Let  us  romp  as  we  did,  our  laughter  be 

clear, 

For  all  the  wind's  blowing! 
Death's  the  grandest  venture  of  all,  and 

it's  near; 
Let's  laugh  and  be  going. 

Let's  laugh  as  we  go  down  the  path  to  the 

vale- 
Let's  laugh  at  the  going! 
The  red  rose  is  dead,  and  the  white  rose 

is  pale, 

And  cold  winds  are  blowing; 
But  love's  all  about  us,  the  sun  is  as  warm, 

There's  just  as  glad  weather; 
Your  hand  in  my  hand,  then  who  fears  any 

storm ! 
We're  going  together! 


140 


JUST  A  TOUCH  OF  LONGING 

I  miss  the  old  home?    Why, 
I  do  miss  the  punkin  pie 
That  I  got  my  fill  of  when 
Autumn  had  rolled  'round  again; 
Punkin  pie  as  big  around 
As  a  cartwheel  most,  and  browned 
Just  the  sort  of  brown  that  melts 
In  your  mouth  like  no  thin'  else! 
Do  I  miss  the  old  home?    My! 
I  DO  miss  the  punkin  pie. 

And  I  miss  the  killin'  time!    . 
Hog  backbone  and  spareribs!    I'm 
All  right  till  I  start  to  think 
Of  the  spring,  an'  how  I'd  drink 
Out  of  it,  a-lyin*  down 
Sprawlin*  right  out  on  the  groun* 
So's  my  lips  could  reach  the  spring; 
Bet  there  ain't  another  thing 
141 


In  the  world  that  can  compare 

With  that  bubblin'  spring  back  there. 

An'  I  miss  the  cattle  some, 
Miss  the  cows.    God  made  'em  dumb, 
But  their  eyes  'ud  seem  to  be 
Savin'  worlds  of  things  to  me. 
When  I'd  go  into  their  stall 
An'  I'd  pat  each  one  and  call 
Her  by  name,  an*  she  'ud  turn 
An*  her  big  ca'm  eyes  'ud  burn 
With  love  for  me.    They  was  dumb 
But  I  miss  the  cattle — some. 

An'  nights  when  the  sticks  'ud  fall 
Inter  coals,  an'  when  the  hall 
Would  be  full  of  ghosts,  to  scare 
Little  boys  until  their  hair 
Would  feel  prickly — Do  I  miss 
The  old  home,  the  mother-kiss — 
Well,  this  is  'twixt  me  and  you 
I  'bout  half  believe  I  do! 
An'  I  always  sort  o'  sigh 
At  the  thought  of  punkin  pie. 

142 


RESTING  WITH  NOVEMBER 


could  hardly  tell  November  by  the 

weather;  it's  so  clear 
That  sky-scrapers  in  the  city,  miles  away, 

look  just  as  near 
As  the  bunch  of  trees  off  yonder,  and  the 

wildbirds  seem  to  sing 
Just  as  sweet  a  song  as  ever  they  sung  to 

us  in  the  spring; 
And  the  trees,  as  fur  as  I  see,  are  a-lookin' 

'bout  the  same, 
'Ceptin'    now    and    then   a    sweetgum    is 

a-bustin'  into  flame, 
An*  I  never  felt  more  fittin*  to  chop  wood 

or  go  an*  plow,  — 
An'  I  never  felt  less  like  it  than  I  happen 

to  right  now. 

My  old  blood  seems  fairly  rompin',  like  red 
licker,  through  my  veins; 
143 


An'    I   ought   to   drive   the  bosses,   with 

a-rattlin'  of  their  chains, 
Where  fall  plowin'  is  a-waitin',  an*  there's 

other  things  to  do; 
But  the  air  is  so  perfumey,  and  the  sky  is 

such  a  blue, 
An*  the  roses  are  so  bloomin',  and  the  can- 

nas  such  a  red, 
An*  the  violets  so  smilin'  where  they're 

hidin'  in  their  bed, 
An*  the  whole  world  looks  so  restful,  it 

should  be  ag'in'  the  law 
For  a  man  to  do  a  thing  but  stand  around 

and  chew  a  straw. 

I  would  like  to  stand  out  yonder  by  the 

front  fence,  stand  all  day, 
So's  to  see  the  city  people  in  their  autos 

hike  away 
For  a  day  out  in  the  country,  for  to  spin 

across  the  hills; 
Where  the  sweetness  of  November  just 

wells  up  and  overspills 
Till  no  one  can  help  but  get  it,  get  full  of  it 

through  and  through, 
144 


Of   the   redness   of   the   cannas — but   as 

certain  as  I  do, 
When  I'm  half  lost  in  my  dreamin',  an' 

have  stood  out  there  a  spell, 
Some  of  them  will  stop  an'  ask  me  if  I've 

got  some  eggs  to  sell. 

Then  I'll  have  to  quit  my  dreamin'  to  hunt 

eggs  and  such  like  stuff; 
An'  the  dream  that  I  am  dreamin'  will  have 

left  me  sure  enough; 
So  I  dassen't  stand  out  yonder  where  the 

autos  hike  along; 
If  I  want  to  dream  in  quiet,  and  to  hear 

the  mockbird's  song, 
There   ain't   no   place   that's  so  quiet  as 

behind  the  barn  for  me, 
Where  the  yellow  sun  is  fallin',  an'  where 

people  lets  me  be; 
Wife    imagines    I    am    workin',    an'    the 

honkers  go  on  by; 
But  I'm  restin'  with  November,  an'  the 

wild  birds,  an'  the  sky. 


145 


THE  CHRISTMAS  SPIRIT 

E?  Happy?  I  could  hop  up  a  swaying 

twig  an'  swing, 
If  it  was  strong — I'm  gittin'   stout — an' 

sing  an'  sing  an'  sing 
Until  the  whole  world  turned  its  head  to 

hear  the  music  roll; 
An'  still  I'd  sing,  an'  sing  till  I  poured  out 

my  soul 

I  could — till  I  poured  out  my  soul  in  one 

last  gasp  o'  glee, 
Perched  right  up  an  a  swayin'  twig  on 

some  tall  Christmas  tree, 
A-tearin'  loose  an'  spreadin'  out,  so  clear 

an'  high  an'  long 
That  all  the  birds  'ud  hush,  an'  all  the 

world  be  filled  with  song. 

146 


I  don't  know  what  it  is  that's  got  into  me, 
I'm  so  glad! 

But  somehow  this  is  just  the  best  Christ 
mas  I  ever  had! 

I  think  it  must  be  just  because  love's  piled 
up  more  an'  more, 

Until  there's  more  love  in  the  world  than 
ever  was  before! 

The   little  children  on  the  streets — each 

little  girl  and  boy — 
Are  busier  than  teapots  are,  just  bubblin' 

full  o'  joy! 
An'  all  the  stores  in  all  the  town  where 

tramplin'  buyers  shove, 
Have  fairly  got  their  walls  bulged  out, 

they  are  so  filled  with  love. 

If  each  clerk  had  a  thousand  hands  she'd 

have  all  she  could  do; 
But  not  a  one  is  lookin'  glum,  an'  not  a 

one  is  blue; 


147 


They're  filled  with  Christinas  spirit  till  it 

shines  out  of  their  eyes, 
It's  in  the  bundles  they  wrap  up,  an'  in 

their  sweet  replies. 

I  wish  for  them  all  that  they  wish,   an' 

then  a  whole  lot  more; 
An'  for  the  little  bits  o'  tads  just  smilin' 

in  life's  door 
I  wish  a  life  of  Christmases  as  glad  as  this, 

by  jing! 
I  wish  I  COULD  perch  on  a  twig  an'  sing 

an'  sing  an'  sing! 


148 


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